


Feeling Colors

by cinnalando



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnalando/pseuds/cinnalando
Summary: Peter Benjamin Parker can't see colors like everyone else; his world is monochromatic.But this doesn't mean he can't appreciate them in his own way, and his newfound spider family proves just that.





	1. Red and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noir learns his reds and blues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, first chapter of this fic esketiittt. I'm aiming for a family fic, but mostly centered on Noir and HamNoir. The next few chapters will most likely focus on other characters, though, since I love them very much :]c  
> Enjoy!

“So this is red?”

A large gloved hand points to inked lined paper.

“Yeah. Well, maroon, if we’re getting technical, but yeah pretty much. It’s red.”

“Red…”

He cannot feel the texture of the paper beneath his fingers, nor can he see the actual hue of the ink, but the heightened beating to his heart is engraved into his mind as he thinks, _Red._ He will associate this feeling with _red._

Blood is red. Stop signs are red. So are apples, burning fires, and cartoon hearts, according to his young friend. Miles taps a lower part of the open page of his notebook, currently held protectively in Noir’s left hand. Beneath the goggles, his eyes follow the movement, landing on a slightly darker shade of ink.

“This is…” the finger taps twice, encouraging an answer.

Noir’s own fingers twitch, drifting from red to new.

To be honest with himself; this was a rather pointless endeavor; attempting to learn colors he couldn’t comprehend. But Miles watched him patiently, the corner of his mouth pinched in an understanding smile. Miles, ever the compassionate soul, had sat by his side on Aunt May’s couch for the last half hour, oversized sneakers swinging as he kicked his feet. Those were red, too, he’s been told.

Right. The new color. Yes. Noir blinks.

“It’s…” He doesn’t know. The only difference between this color and the ‘red’ is the slightly darker shade. What if it was just a darker red? Or maroon, as Miles had briefly mentioned? How was he supposed to know based on shade alone?

The paper dents just barely as gloved fingers press harder into the lines, frustrated. The masked man grunts softly, under his breath, as teeth meet cheek.

Miles’ eyes flicker back and forth from paper to emotionless mask. He stumbled with his words.

“It’s blue. More indigo, actually- sorry, yeah, just blue for now. Uh-“ His eyes soften even more as Noir remains rigid, “You good man? I, uh, don’t, I don’t know what it’s like, seeing in only black and white, but I can’t- it doesn’t sound easy? So, if you… um, need a break, that’s cool with me. It’s all good.”

_Blue. Frustrating. Confusing. Unexplored territory._

Noir relaxes, just a fraction, and softly closes the notebook. He hands it to Miles- who awkwardly attempts to stand as well but falls back onto the couch.

He tips his hat and says, “Thank you for the lesson, Miles.”

The boy stutters, but Noir waves over his shoulder, reassuring him.

“Just need some air. Abyssinia.” And then he leaves, movements stiff as he restrains himself from sprinting out the door. His coat flutters behind him as he swings off.

 

                                  ------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Miles sits alone on the couch, concerned, absently toying with the corner of a page as he watches the dark figure swing off into the night. So yeah, maybe that color lesson didn’t go as smoothly as others, but Noir was the type of broody edgy dude Miles just couldn’t understand sometimes. Maybe this wasn’t about colors? Maybe the guy had just gotten no sleep, or eaten something bad earlier in the day?

Maybe there were more troubling things plaguing his mind.

The boy shakes his head, blinking away the stupid thoughts. Of _course_ there were other things troubling Noir- that’s just who he was. But Miles doesn’t even know how to begin approaching such a walking personification of trauma, so he puts his notebook down and walks into the dining room where the other spiders are playing cards.

Peter looks up at Miles and smiles, nodding towards the living room. “Tutoring go well?” It’s not an actual question. Well- it _is_ a question, technically, but it’s more of an opener for a conversation Miles really wants to get off his chest, and Peter nods in understanding when Miles sighs. He’s thankful that Peter is more perceptive than he lets by.

Gwen pulls back a chair, nodding towards it without taking her eyes off her deck. He sits, sighing again.

“I dunno man, I _thought_ it was going good, but then I tried to quiz him and he froze up on me and left. I think he freaked out? Like, internally? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually about colors, but maybe it was. I dunno.”

Ham flips two more cards, and Gwen taps the table twice before turning to Miles.

“Maybe he’s just being his normal broody self? You know how he can get.”

They all nod; they’re well aware.

“Raise-“ Peni pushes two chips forward, “Maybe someone should go get him! He’s going to miss movie night if he loses track of time again. And I chose the movie this time!! He _can’t_ miss it!” She pouts, but her concern is clear. Peter folds his cards, grunting in disappointment, and Ham folds too with a snort.

“I can go sniff him out real quick! I’m not winning this game anyways.” Ham hops down from his seat, only his ears visible from over the table, and paddles out of the dining room. Gwen groans and slams her cards down as well, causing a grinning Peni to lean forward and collect her winnings. Miles turns in his seat as he watches the pig open the front door.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” He asks, but the door is already shut. _Oh, well_. If anyone could cheer the monochrome spider up, it was their cartoony friend.

Miles turns back to the table, determined smile.

“Deal me in.”

                                     ------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Outside, above the artificial light of the city, Spider-Ham leaps across building tops, snout at work. There’s a faint trace of Noir’s scent- something akin to firewood; a spicy smell. The crisp cold wind carries Ham towards his destination. To find a figure clad in black in the dead of night would normally be a difficult task, which made Ham the pig for the job.

By the time Ham spotted Noir sitting on the edge of a bank, the city life below had calmed, almost into an unnoticeable quiet. Ham’s ears perked up at the sound of a striking match, and the following glow that emitted from it, forming a silhouette of Noir’s turned back.

“Huh, didn’t think you were serious about that part,” Ham jokes, timid, and stops by Noir’s side. The other man stills, having been too absorbed in his own inner monologue to notice company. Ham leans over, peering at Noir’s face, attempting to gauge his feelings past the mask. The match blows out, leaving them in the dark yet again.

“You should know by now that I’m always serious.”

A snort.

“And you should know I’m always joking. Well, almost always. Sometimes you gotta lay the truth down like a wall of punches, no holding back!” He waves his fists, imitating a tooney wallop. Noir’s head tilts slightly to watch him from the corner of his eye, then turns back forwards. Ham frowns, lowering his hands and fighting stance.

“Huh, I thought for sure you’d like that one.”

After a defeating beat, Noir chuckles, causing Ham’s lowering ears to stand in attention. It was a deep, gravely sound, and very satisfying. To get a chuckle from Noir? That was like getting a full laugh from Gwen.

“Yeah, it was cute,” the man coughs out.

Ham grins, finally deciding to sit, the ice now broken. His hooves barely hang over the edge, so short compared to Noir’s long thick legs. He leans to the right, resting his head on Noir’s arm.

 

                                  ------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Noir stiffens as his small friend leans into him, but quickly regains his composure and relaxes _._ He was still quite unaccustomed to physical contact; something the pig seemed to initiate often.

“So what’re you doing up here? Too hot in the house? Miles bullying you too much?” Ham asks, twirling his feet absentmindedly. Noir watches the movements, almost too distracted to catch the question.

He flicks the burnt match into the alleyway below, ignoring the soft disapproving mutter from Ham.

“Just needed some air.”

Ham shifts, most likely watching his face again, but Noir doesn’t move.

“Is… everything alright? If it’s color trouble then don’t worry about it. Pigs have dichromatic vision. You know what that is?”

“Mmhm.”

“Funny right? A cartoon pig being colorblind? I can bend your reality but can’t see much besides red, blue, and green. Irony is so cruel when it isn’t hilarious. Some of the folks back home go on and on about the clouds in the sky or the colors of the rainbow, and I just nod and agree like a chump! What a life. And that’s not the only thing-” Ham’s small rant goes on for a few minutes further, his arms and face animated as he explains his struggles. Noir listens, he does, but his mind is distracted by how Ham moves. He’s small, yet manages to take up so much space at once with his movements. He’s confident, bold in his actions, bending the laws of physics like it’s no big deal. Noir doesn’t notice he’s stopped talking until Ham is sitting again, panting dramatically.

For a while they sit in silence, apart from Ham gasping for breath. Eventually, he sighs, and shifts himself into Noir’s side, under his arm. He fits perfectly. Noir notices the slight shivering immediately.

“Cold?”

“No, no, fine-“ a perfectly timed breeze brushes past, causing the pig to yelp and shudder. Noir smiles, lifting up the side of his coat and pulling the pig to his side, draping it over him like a shared blanket. Ham snorts in appreciation, ears twitching, and he snuggles shamelessly into Noir’s flank.

The scene laid before Noir is one he associates with romantic films he watched during childhood. Two lovers side by side, basking in one another’s warmth, gazing at the stars. Although, there are no stars out above the city tonight. Still, it’s a romantic scene all the same.

Ultimately, the shivers die down, and for some time Noir thinks the pig had fallen asleep. He is proven wrong when Ham wraps his arms around Noir’s stomach and oinks- he _oinks_ , there’s no other way to describe it. Noir blinks at the sound, staring down at the pig.

“You know, uh, I’m a bit of an expert on red and blue.” He motions towards his suit. “I heard you were having trouble with those two.”

“Was having trouble with all of them, honestly. You heard?”

His ears twitch. “Pig ears.”

“Oh.”

“Sooo….?”

Noir looks down where Ham is staring up expectantly at him. He bites back his pride, clenches his fists, and sighs, shoulders sagging.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great! Okay, let’s get started,” he exclaims and jumps to his feet. There’s an empty feeling that suddenly occupies Noir’s chest at the loss of contact. He pointedly ignores it, until Ham grabs his hand suddenly and pulls it to his chest. The pig’s chest is too small to fit Noir’s entire hand, so he turns it, and presses the gloved palm onto his heart. Noir can’t tell if the pig’s heart is beating faster than normal, or if pig hearts are just like that. Perhaps he should do some research later.

“This part of my suit is red. Most of it is, like here-“ he points his arms, “Here-“ he gestures to his feet, “And here!” He waves his hands in front of his face. Noir hesitantly pulls his hand back, but Ham tugs on it yet again, insistent.

He can feel his own heartbeat elevating.

 _Red_.

“These parts are blue.” He guides Noir’s hand to trace his sides, knees, and under his arms. Noir watches, mesmerized. He is helpless as he’s manhandled.

Isn’t this oddly intimate? Doesn’t the pig realize that friends don’t normally caress each other like this? Are their cultures that utterly different?

He is confused. He is frustrated. This is unexplored territory.

_This is blue._

A snap startles him. Ham taps his foot impatiently before him, gaze crooked.

“You gettin’ all this buddy?”

Noir is suddenly _very_ thankful that Ham can’t see his expression, nor his darkened cheeks.

“Yes.” He isn’t really. They’re just slightly different shades of grey to him. But what does it matter? He’s lived his entire life unable to see these colors, so why did it matter now?

Ham holds Noir’s hand in both of his, playing with his fingers. It’s another intimate gesture, and just proves to confuse Noir further.

_Red. The beating of a heart._

_Blue. The fear of the unknown._

Noir gulps. Then, he shifts so he’s fully facing Ham, and clasps their hands together. Ham snorts in surprise, eyes widening.

He has never been an open man, always lurking in the shadows and closing himself off. But this man- this spider-turned-pig. There was something about him that urged Noir to speak. To feel. To express.

“I…” He begins. He stops.

Maybe not.

Doubting himself, he shakes his head and pulls away. “Sorry, forget it.”

Ham makes a noise of protest, scrambling as Noir turns.

“Hold on Mister!” He stumbles onto Noirs lap, feet balancing on either thigh, and holds Noir’s shoulders down in a strong grip. His snout prods Noir right below the nose aggressively. “You can’t just pull a romantic move like that and back away! What were you gonna say?”

Noir blinks. _Romantic?_

He hadn’t any romantic intentions just then.

Did he?

Ham pulls up his mask, all the way up to his ears, and shakes Noir’s shoulders. Noir didn’t know what he expected to be under that mask. A determined glare of the eyes was definitely not on his list of suspicions, but there it was, staring straight into his goggles.

“What were you gonna say?” Ham whispers, harsh, desperate.

Noir breathes. In and out. Shaky hands inch up to rest on his sides- his blue sides.

“I… I doubt I’ll ever see or experience colors like the rest of you. But I…. feel them. I can’t see them but I _feel_ them. And I _like_ feeling them. I’ve never felt anything like this before.” He can’t look at Ham as he says it, just stares at the spider logo on his chest. “I’ve felt such horrible things. Hunger. Grief. Loss. Rage. The cold bitter world has had its claws around my throat since the moment I was born. But with _you_ \- all of you- the grip loosens. I, uh, you know I love you all. I love…” Words lodge in his throat. He can’t finish such a sentence.

“Peter,” Ham whispers, holding back a snicker behind one hand. Noir hushes. “You’re such a dramatic sap. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“No-“

“You are! And I mean it; you’re such an _entertainer_.”

Ham pulls his mask back down with a snap and hops off of Noir’s legs, beginning to trot away. Noir sits, lost, until the other spider looks back and nods for him to follow.

They swing together in sync, side by side, Ham thwipping onto Noir more often than onto the buildings. Every touch from Ham sparks something in Noir’s chest, the flutter of his heart catching in his throat.

 _So this is red_.

Ham is pacing nervously by the time they arrive back as Aunt May’s patched up house.

“Fuuuckk, I totally forgot about movie night. I hope Peni doesn’t get angry…” the swine mutters under his breath. Noir stands with hands in his coat pockets, watching the pig pace. Were they not going to discuss the rooftop further? Was Ham just playing him the entire time? It doesn’t seem to be in his nature, despite his playful demeanor, but Noir fears the worst nonetheless.

Ham stops in his tracks, glancing up towards Noir, who glances right back. They stare. From here, in front of the porch, they can hear the boisterous laughter and commotion of their fellow spiders inside. But as they stare at each other, in the cold of night, silence encases them.

Tension.

Ham hides his hands behind his back, jolting as though just remembering something important. His ears pull back, shrinking in on himself.

“Uh, um. People in the business- the comedy business, that is- they love entertainers. Ha! And I just happen to _be_ in that business… what a coincidence.” The small spider dares to look up, almost cowering.

Noir’s brow scrunches. He processes the words, mulling over this weird metaphor that’s being attempted at him. At his lack of response, Ham makes a noise similar to a frustrated squeal and dashes into the house, leaving Noir on the porch alone to contemplate the events of the night.

Faintly, he registers the commotion of his spider family inside welcoming Ham back.

Noir takes a moment to himself to calm his nerves, to ground himself. He pulls his hat down, and enters the living room. His friends are bundled up closely on the couch, and all turn to greet him with various levels of cheer. He nods to them, but his eyes linger on Ham, who sits on an armchair next to Peter. His gaze is cast down, thumbs twiddling.

Noir stands behind the couch, hands in his pockets, the brim of his hat low.

About halfway through the movie, just as the plot reaches its climax, he slips out of the back door silently with a polite tip of his hat.

A pair of eyes burn into his back as he goes.

_Blue is confusing and frustrating unexplored territory._

_Red is equally as troubling._

This is the conclusion he manages to settle with as he closes his eyes that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh tysm for reading! chapter 2 will focus on peni and her relationship with noir! look forward to it ^^


	2. Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noir experiences the color purple with the help of one Peni Parker.  
> If only it stopped there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! thank you all SO SO SO much for the positive feedback so farr!!!!!!  
> i DO have to warn y'all about this chapter, though. idk how many of y'all have read noir's comics, but theyre pretty brutal and fucked up, so i allude to those in this chapter a bit. it gets a little dark, but don't worry!!! the big amounts of extreme fluff should keep you afloat amongst the angst.  
> enjoy!!! much love!!

  


Peter Benjamin Parker never exactly _liked_ his home. Growing up through the Great Depression changed a man, changed his world view. Seeing your uncle’s half eaten corpse and killing the man who ate him alive also tends to change a man. This world was cruel. Crimelords, Nazi’s, cannibals, and murderers upon murderers were just a part of Peter’s everyday life. He had never liked it. But he lived it, because he had no choice. He never really had a choice.

But now that he knows a better world exists? Now that he knows he can leave and never return? He _hates_ it.

Peter Benjamin Parker _hates_ his home, but he has an obligation, a duty, to be the Spider-Man his world needs, and to protect the few loved ones he has left. To protect the people of his world. There are shackles on his wrists and he is a helpless under their will.

Recently he contemplated bringing Aunt May to Miles’ universe. A world (mostly) past the age of Nazi’s with colors and joy and advanced technology; it would be the paradise she deserved. He has yet to act on that. He fears that that will be the final factor that pushes him over the fence to the side of greener grass.

To New York of 2019.

Peter Benjamin Parker _wants_ this new New York to be his home. All he would have to do is bring over May, some personal belongings, and find a place to stay.

In this new colorful dimension, Peter is not _Peter_ , he is Noir.

And Noir wishes he were more selfish. Selfish enough to leave behind the people of his dimension permanently. Selfish enough to get the things he wanted. Selfish enough to abandon a despairful and uncaring world, where nothing but misery and grief awaited him. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that says, _yeah, maybe you_ do _deserve some happiness,_ that sometimes graces him with its presence.

The voice is absent today as rain pours down in the back of Noir’s mind. Heavy sheets of dark rain.

Yeah, today is going to be difficult.

—————————————————————-  


“It's a bracelet that can turn into a knife, see?” Peni flicks her wrist and brands a shiny dagger, jabbing the air playfully. Miles, Gwen, and Ganke lean forward, intrigued and impressed. Peni hands the knife to Gwen and ushers her off the bunk bed, taking her seat. “Go on! You try!”

Gwen inspects the knife, turning it back and forth, running her fingers along the handle. With a similar flick of her wrist, the knife snaps back into a bracelet, snug around her arm. The kids cheer and clap at the spectacle, and a proud Peni nods at the success of her invention.

From above, Noir observes quietly. He occupies the top bunk alone while Peter and Ham make a snack run, absent for the moment. It’s nice, watching these kids he’s grown to love act so carefree and have fun. Noir has never desired to have kids. Not because he didn’t want them, but because he never wanted to bring a child into a world that would not accept it. A world where your loved ones die, so you mustn’t ever get attached to anyone if you can’t help it.

But in another life, where Noir wasn’t fighting Nazi’s and struggling to stay alive, then yes, he would have wanted kids. Another life like this, where there was no segregation based on sexuality or race, people could marry who they loved, and the streets of New York were halfway decent to walk down alone at night. _That_ life suited his fantasy of having a family.

“Noir, do you want to try?” Peni asks, thankfully interrupting his thoughts before they could spiral too deep. She holds up her invention to him.

He almost declines, but Peni’s eyes are so unnaturally sparkly and puppy-dog-like that he can’t say no.

“Sure.”

He drops down from the top bunk, landing like a feather, and accepts the bracelet that’s handed to him. Peni steps back, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear, and she bounces in excitement. A small crooked smile reaches Noir’s face, and he flicks the bracelet as previously demonstrated. The knife reappears, small in his grip, but aerodynamic and no doubt deadly. It’s finely made, and a charming spider symbol is etched into the side. He feels pride in Peni for creating such a piece of advanced technology on her own. She is truly an amazing girl.

“It’s purple, in case you were wondering,” she mentions, scuffing her toe on the floor bashfully.

_Purple._

He decides to associate this color with _pride_.

Glancing at the curious faces of the three teens on the bed, Noir decides to entertain them a little. They watch him in awe as he twirls the knife around his hand, movements akin to switchblade party tricks.

“So cool…” Ganke whispers, and Miles nods, mouth partly agape. Gwen even mutters a _woah._

Noir bounces the knife in his hand, searching the room.

“Say, kid, you got any targets in here?”

Miles hops off the bed and looks around.

“Uhhh, not really? I have posters but-“

The kids yelp as the knife flies out of Noir’s hand, straight into the face of a celebrity Noir knows not of.

Miles and Ganke gasp and scramble over to the poster, assessing the damage. Peni and Gwen watch, eyes wide, as the two boys struggle between being impressed and being horrified at the hole in their wall.  

“Not Seth!” Ganke cries.

“Dude! What the heck man? You can’t just throw a knife into my wall! Even if it _was_ really cool!” Miles groans, attempting to smooth out the poster to hide the damage. Ganke holds the knife away from his body, as if afraid it will cause more damage on its own. Peni sighs and takes it back, securing it on her wrist.

“It’s just a wall, ain’t that big of a deal,” he says. It really isn’t- it’s a small cut that can be easily covered up. He doesn’t see the issue.

Gwen shakes her head, shooting Noir and unimpressed scowl. Even Peni looks disappointed in him, absentmindedly rubbing the purple bracelet on her wrist.

_She is disappointed in you._

The open window behind him suddenly feels a lot more inviting.

They are all saved from the growing tension of the room when a knock on the window alerts them to Peter’s return. He slips inside past Noir, grocery bags in each hand.

“Hey gang! Hope you didn’t have too much fun without me.”

“We did.”

“Great! Always the brutally honest one, Gwen, I appreciate it. I got some chips, candy, subs, and soda, so dig in.” He drops the bags onto the dresser counter, snatching a bag of Fruffles and a can of Kola for himself. The kids rush to the bags to stake their claims. Noir glances back at the open window, where Ham is crawling in. The pig drops to the ground on his stomach, panting.

“So- _huff_ -many- _wheeze_ -humans!” The pig groans to his audience of one. He looks up at Noir, who stands off awkwardly to the side, out of the way.

It’s a little weird.

Things have been weird between them- weirder than usual, because Ham is never normal- since the night on the rooftop. Ham will still tease him, climb all over him, and joke at him like nothing's changed, but during those rare silent moments, Noir will catch Ham watching him, inspecting him, studying him.

So yeah, it’s been weird.

“Alright alright, who’s turn is it for the movie, again? Let’s get this started,” Peter says, clapping his hands and demanding the attention of the room. It’s one of their weekly movie nights, where they sit down as a family and- well, its self explanatory.

Miles says, “My turn!” over a mouthful of candy, and hops over to the desktop where he pulls up a movie. Noir stands by the window as the group takes their places on the bunk bed. Ganke, Miles and Gwen huddle under a blanket on the top bunk, covered in bags of food and cans of soda. Peter lounges on the the bottom bunk, back against the wall, while Peni sits cross legged at the edge of the bed, holding Ham like a teddy bear in her lap. For Noir, the guilt of five minutes ago still remains, and he battles internally whether or not to take a seat.

Does he deserve to sit amongst them, after so carelessly disregarding Miles’ feelings like that? Does he deserve to be sitting here relaxing and eating junk food while the innocent people in his dimension are fighting for their lives? Does he-

“Noir,” Peni whispers. She pats the open spot next to her, nodding. He takes the seat, and politely declines her offer of ‘Sour Batch Kids’. She smiles; soft, and understanding. He doesn’t deserve to be her friend, but he is beyond thankful that he is.

 

The film is a comedy-based action. Noir doesn’t care much for comedic movies, but his interest in modern technology and its powers keeps him invested for a majority of the viewing. His friends laugh at the appropriate parts, and he watches.

It’s a fine enough movie, in the end.

When the credits begin to roll, Peter declares they leave Miles and Ganke alone to study or ‘do whatever kids do these days in a fancy private school.’ Miles whacks him on the arm for that, and yet, there’s no animosity behind it. Noir observes the interaction with interest.

They leave the tiny dorm room the same way they came, and swing back to Aunt May’s house together.

The sleeping arrangement at Aunt May’s favors the two youngest, Peni and Gwen, who sleep in the empty bedroom upstairs. Noir, Ham, and Peter reside in the ‘Spider-Cave’, where a single futon has been added. Peter insists it makes the place ‘more homey.’ Ham sleeps in a hammock of his own webs, and Noir does the same in a dark secluded corner of the basement. Well, he lays in it. Noir tries not to sleep when visiting this dimension; he wants to experience as much of it as he can while he has the chance, even if that just means staring blankly at the ceiling. Although, he supposes, he tries to sleep as little as possible in his own dimension as well; nightmares, and the such. It’s a tiring routine, but it works.

They enter the living room, quietly so as to not awaken Aunt May. Sp//der waves goodbye to Peni before heading to the shed.

“Does anyone else want tea?” Peni asks, beelining for the kitchen, dragging Noir behind her by the hand. The girl rifles through the cabinets, shoving materials into Noir’s hands without a second thought. Gwen and Peter refuse, the latter yawning and collapsing on the couch. Gwen heads upstairs to her room, calling down a _goodnight_ after her. Ham hops up onto a counter and pulls out three mugs.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you!” Peni says, and they all work together to make tea.

The three of them naturally gravitate towards each other, having known each other longer than the other spiders (even if only by a few days).

They work around each other like a machine, reach around and over and under for supplies, tidying up the kitchen as they go. Peni hums a tune under her breath, and Ham taps the counter with a wooden spoon to give her a beat. Noir smiles softly, watching the girl and pig slowly break out into song together. They dance, holding each other’s hands, and swing their arms back and forth, legs following a shaky rhythm. They’re singing a song Noir doesn’t know the words to, but he recognizes the melody. He’s sure he’s heard Miles singing it under his breath, too.

Peni looks at Noir, and gestures wildly for him to join them. Ham also waves, encouraging him. They both hold out one free hand, eyes wide and pleading.

Noir sighs, dropping his wet cloth onto the counter. He reaches out to accept their open hands, but Peni pulls away, pouting

“Take off your gloves first,” she demands. He complies, because it’s _Peni_ , and pockets his gloves. Why she would want to hold his calloused, scarred hand, he doesn’t know. She holds it firmly anyways.

The two shorter spiders continue their song, making up their own words and laughing as they bounce back and forth. Noir stands, awkward, between them. This is completely out of his range, jumping and singing like children. However, they seem to be enjoying his company, so he sways in place, trying his best to contribute to this moment.

“You’re not dancing, Noir!” Peni laughs, giddy. She grabs his other hand, bouncing in place. “Show me some old-timey dance moves. Ball dancing? Show room?”

“Ballroom,” he corrects her, chuckling. Thankfully, he knows a few different dances, so he leads her away from the counter. Ham pulls out a record player and classical music fills the room. The pig sits atop the table, eyes only on him. He feels a blush creep along the back of his neck.

“So there are, uh, about seven different ballroom dances that I know. We’ll do a beginner dance; The Waltz.” He maneuvers Peni’s hands into the traditional dance hold; her right hand in his left, and her other on his shoulder. She smiles up at him, eager to learn. The bracelet on her right hand glints.

He will not disappoint her twice in one night.

“We’re going to start with the box step. See, now, what you’re gonna do is mirror my steps.” He steps forward with his left foot, and she follows. They continue the dance with Noir leading her, their steps small so as to not bump into the walls or obstacles. Eventually they find a rhythm, and Peni’s steps grow more confident, the grip on his hand relaxing. They circle around the room, animated music notes floating around, dancing with them.

When Noir catches a glimpse of Ham’s expression out of the corner of his vision, the only way to describe it is _dreamy._ Cartoon hearts float around his head. Noir pretends he is oblivious to the sight.

Before him, Peni’s eyes close and she rests her forehead on his chest, trusting the seamless flow they’ve taken to. Her left arm slides down and wraps around his torso, enveloping him in half of a hug. Noir smiles at the top of her head, feeling at true peace as he leads her in the dance. It’s slow. Calming. Serene. This is the type of dancing Noir can enjoy.

This is the type of life he desires.

He imagines this is what a father feels like, dancing with his daughter at a momentous occasion. A father’s pride and joy, all in the form of an amazing girl who trusts him and smiles brighter than the sun itself. He hugs her back, hoping his feelings can be translated without words.

Along the way they quit the dancing, opting to settle for swaying in place instead. Peni squeezes his middle tightly, face pressed into him. He can’t see it from here, but Noir is certain she is smiling.

_Even behind the darkest of storm clouds, the sun’s rays continue to shine._

A snort jolts the two out of their trance, and their heads whip around to find the source. Ham is still sitting on the table next to the record player, wiping his eyes with tissues. He blows his nose, waving a hand.

“Sorry, sorry, it was just so beautiful,” he says. Peni giggles and pulls away.

The moment is gone. Noir frowns at the pig, who doesn’t seem to notice his disappointment.

“That was so fun! Oh, and the tea is ready!” She slips over to the counter and pours the three cups of tea, rocking her hips joyously back and forth to an absent beat. When she returns to the table, the record player is gone, and Ham is standing on one of the chairs, arms outstretched and reaching. Noir takes a seat across from him. Peni distributes the mugs and sits next to Ham, sighing contently.

“Next time I’m going to teach _you_ some dancing, Noir. And I mean _real_ dancing, preferably to a nasty beat and killer base!”

He doesn’t understand half of what she’s said, but he nods. He can only imagine what kind of moves she intends on forcing him to perform.

Ham pulls out his cellular phone (a ‘smartphone’ as the kids called it when presenting it to him and Noir) and holds it on the table in front of Peni.

“I recorded your dance, if you wanna see. You look like a professional, Peni! Are you sure you’ve never ballroom danced before, you lying scoundrel?”

She holds back a laugh around her mouthful of tea, hand flying to her mouth. A gulp, then, “You _recorded_ us? Of course I wanna see!” She presses a finger to the screen and leans in.

Noir takes her moment of distraction to lift his mask and sip his tea. He can’t see past the pig’s own mask, but he’s sure Ham is watching him as he does so. He recalls the spider’s eyes from that other night, glaring into his. What expression do they hold now?

Noir covers his mouth before the video ends, setting his mug down gently. Peni coos at the phone, insisting Ham send the video to her immediately.

“Do you want to see it?” She asks Noir. He shakes his head.

“Maybe later.” He's sure this is something he should watch alone, where they can’t see him react, because he knows he’s going to choke up or become overwhelmed. It’s one of those days.

 

They drink their tea over comfortable conversation. Peni scrolls through her phone and occasionally laughs, turning the device to Ham or Noir to show them a video clip or a funny picture. Neither spiders are from the times of smartphones, or ‘memes’, or whatever else the people of this generation are into, but they try to keep up.

To this day, months after first landing in this dimension, Noir still finds himself surprised by the smallest things when visiting. Shoes that light up, _signs_ that light up, drones, video games, VR headsets, modern medicine, _everything._ The list goes on for pages. There are endless new experiences to explore in this dimension. Noir sometimes feels the intensity of culture shock, but never in a negative way. He is drawn to this world.

Before him, Ham and Peni get engaged in a heated conversation about something Noir has no interest in and he can feel himself starting to dissociate. All alone in a crowded room. His thoughts finally catching up to him, like a _vulture eating its prey before its even dead._

He thinks of fog clouding his vision as he swings blindly through the city, navigating his path only by the sounds of screams and cries for help. How sometimes he hears those screams in the back of his mind during even the most deadly of silences.

He thinks of sitting by the fireplace, shivering and reaching his hands out towards the fire, closer and closer and closer until the shaking was replaced by hisses of pain.

He thinks of snapping on his aviator goggles for the first time. Pulling on his gloves and smoothing down his coat.

He thinks of his Uncle Benjamin. He thinks of a dead vulture. He thinks of his Aunt May.

Aunt May, alone, in his dimension, possibly in danger or already dead, because he’s not there to save her, because he’s sipping tea and chatting with his chums like an afternoon farmer. Noir told himself he planned to save her, remove her from his toxic world, but he’s really just all hat and no cattle. He is a chicken-hearted man, when it came down to it. Death’s head upon a mop-stick. A real disappointment-

“Peter?”

He gasps, hand flying to his gun as he jolts out of his chair. There’s a clatter, far away, as his mug topples over. Tea splashes across the table.

Immediately there are webs on his hand, preventing him from pulling his gun from its holster. He backs away, blinded by confusion, and his back hits the counter. He grunts.

People are talking to him in hushed voices. They stand at bay, scared of him, stances alert.

They are afraid.

He is sure he sees fear on their faces, past the harsh static in his eyes.

He clenches his teeth, blinks furiously, grabbing for the counter with his free hand. He must _breathe._

In a bout of desperation, Noir tears his right hand free of the webbing and pulls up his mask, past his nose to rest under his eyes. He can finally breathe.

So he does. He pants. Gasps for air. And he thinks, tries to find something to cling to. Something that will ground him. Some _one_ that will ground him.

“ _Peter_.” A voice says, both quiet and loud. It rings in his ears.

A small hand rests on his knee, rubbing small circles into it. His head falls down, shoulders hunched, mouth agape as he pants. Ham is standing there before him, eyes worried crescents. Peter, now awake and alert, stands in front of Peni, an arm protectively thrown out to his side.

She is an ordinary girl. She does not have mutant abilities. She stares at his gun in shock.

He could have harmed her.

He could have hurt Peni.

 _Disappointment. Utter disappointment_.

Noir is disappointed in himself, and he has disappointed everyone else.

“Petey, buddy, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in the kitchen with your friends, enjoying some nice oolong tea. It’s night time, it’s 2019, you’re _okay.”_ Ham repeats this reassurance to him as he climbs up Noir’s body. The pig stands on his chest, hands on his shoulders, unmasked eyes pleading.

This has happened before, in a way.

Noir stares at the pig’s face, his determined eyes, and like a snap he’s _there_. He’s in the kitchen again. He’s back.

And he is very ashamed of his outburst.

Shaky hands reach up to pull his mask back down. Scarred, calloused hands. He quickly shoves them into his coat pockets. For once wishing he weren’t the largest spider in the room, he shrinks in on himself. Ham hops back onto the table, hands entwined in a jittery fiddle. His nervous tick.

“Is… everything fine now?” Peter whispers, unsure of whether to address Noir or Ham. Peni gently pushes Peter aside, carefully stepping towards Noir. He stares at her like a deer in the headlights, frozen. She reaches out a hand. He flinches away.

_She should be afraid of you. Afraid to get hurt. You hurt people. It’s what you do._

“Hey, lets go get some air. Sound good?” Peter offers, insisting that Ham keeps Peni company, and leads Noir out the back door. The cold air rushes into his lungs and clears his mind, if only a little. He allows Peter to lead him by elbow into the basement, then onto the futon, his mind on autopilot. He barely registers the trip down, nor the man by his side.

After a heavy, deafening silence, Peter clears his throat.

“I’ve had those, too.” He places a hand on his back. “They never get easier, do they?”

Noir allows Peter to rub soothing circles into his back. It helps a bit, having someone there who can relate. Peter continues to comfort him until Noir’s shoulders have fallen, tension unwound.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Peter asks.

Even Noir had no idea how desperately he wanted to- until it all came tumbling out.

He explains his desires to leave. To start anew. His guilt. His responsibilities. The shackles. _Red_ . Feeling colors. Aunt May. The Vulture. _Blue_ . The pride of a father. Uncle Benjamin. Screams. Burns. Peni. _Purple_. He explains it all in a choked up mess, holding back tears the entire time. His eyes sting by the time he finishes, jaw sore. Peter watches in sympathy, offering quiet nods of understanding as his counterpart vents.

“That’s a lot,” He starts. “And I haven’t gone through nearly half of the shit you have, so I can only partially relate, but I get you.” He runs a hand through his hair, sighing.

“Do you at least feel better now?”

Noir nods.

“Do you go to therapy?”

Noir shakes his head.

“Hmm… maybe I can set you up with a therapist in my dimension. I know some good ones who can deal with the whole Spider-Man thing.”

Peter hesitates with his next words, his mouth opening and closing.

“I won’t bullshit you; I don’t know you as well as I know the others, but I _do_ see how you act. I know you’re dealing with constant doubts and decisions; it’s written all over your posture.” Noir doesn’t know whether to be offended by the observation, or touched. “But you’re a good man, you know? Peni and Ham obviously love you, so how bad can you be, realistically? Right? Take it from a mess like me; you’re a good person, even if you’re struggling with some things. No one blames you for being you.”

His words hit Noir in the heart, shot like a bullet of truth.

“The kids won’t say it because they’re clueless, but everyone’s proud of you. I mean, come on, you jumped like one hundred years into the future and you’re taking it like a champ! But seriously- I’m booking you a therapy appointment ASAP. You have to pay, though; I’m kind of poor right now.”

There it is again, in the midst of Peter’s rambling.

_Pride._

“Hm…” Noir hums. Peter claps his shoulder, crooked grin and compassionate eyes.

“Nice talk! I’ll go reassure the others, okay? You get some rest.” And with that he leaves, shooting Noir a two-fingered salute as he ascends up the platform. From the futon, he watches the man go, silhouette shrinking until the platform reaches the top. He stares at the ceiling for a beat, then shakes his head.

Noir takes Peter’s advice and recedes to his corner of the basement, shooting himself up a hammock. He drapes his coat and vest on a line of webbing, then unzips his boots. Finally, he removes his mask, leaving him in only his turtleneck, pants, and socks. His eyes fall to his belt, where his gun seems to weigh more than life itself. He pulls it out. Snaps it in half. He never wants to see that gun again. He’ll get a new one. Guns are replaceable.

For a rough hour he lies alone in his hammock, thoughts running through his head like a tornado. It takes all of his mental effort, but he manages to focus on positive topics.

Peni’s arms around him.

Her smile.

Her bracelet.

The color _purple._

His train of thought is halted momentarily as the basement platform lowers again, two dark figures standing upon it. Were they anyone else, Noir would struggle identifying them without his glasses on. One of them- Peter- beelines for the futon and flops down. The other- Ham- begins to walk away, but stops. Even from here, in the furthest corner, Noir can feel eyes staring into his soul. Those two blurry white eyes blink, and then they’re- oh good Lord, they’re headed right for him.

Ham paddles over to his hammock, looking up at him, ears low.

“Hey, Petey, you feelin better? I noticed you didn’t brush your teeth before coming down here, so I brought you a chewing stick.”

Noir stares incriminatingly at the item that’s held towards him.

“Are you just here to insult me?” He bites. Ham squeals in shock, hands waving wildly.

“What! No! I just-“ he sighs, pockets the stick. “I actually wanted to know if… I could sleep with you tonight? You could hold me like a teddy bear! Or I could sing to you, tell you a bedtime story, hypnotize you into a deep trance, do a stand up comedy routine-“

“Shut up for a second, will you?” Noir groans, rubbing his temples. It’s too late for these antics. Ham’s teeth audibly clack together, mouth shutting.

The man peers at him past his fingers, considering his options. Sleeping with a pig that’s been flirting with you for the past few months, what are the pros and cons? How does one even approach this subject?

“We could talk about colors, if you want. I know _I’d_ like that…” the pig whispers, pulling off his mask completely. He wrings it between his hands, dark brown eyes struggling to meet Noir’s own grey ones. Noir sighs, hands dropping to his chest. He rubs his jaw, nails scratching against stubble.

“Fine, but-“

“Oh **_boy!_ **” The pig rips off his spider suit and hops onto Noir’s stomach, knocking the air out of him. He quickly makes himself at home on Noir’s chest, pulling out a small blanket from God knows where. He bundles himself up, oinking happily, and rests his chin between Noir’s pecs. The man stares down at him, directly past his snout. There’s an air of smug aura surrounding the pig, as if he’s played all the cards exactly in his favor. And yet, he gazes at Noir with innocent, doughy eyes.

Noir huffs, head rolling back in defeat. This pig has him wrapped around his hooves.

“So, Peter told us you talked. If you ever want an albino tiger as a therapist, I’m your pig!” Ham says. Noir laughs, more out of absurdity than the joke actually being funny. He rests his arm on his face, covering his eyes as he smiles.

“Good one.”

“Hey, That wasn’t a joke! _You should know by now that I’m always serious_.” The pig shuffles closer, snout intruding Noir’s personal space, hot puffs of air hitting his chin. He peaks at the serious expression from under his arm, and laughs. He laughs hard- hard enough for tears to roll down his cheeks.

Ham chuckles,  “It wasn’t _that_ funny.”

No, it wasn’t funny, but it was thoughtful and clever. And it meant that Ham had listened. And understood his _own_ joke. And had help onto that material for all this time up until now. It meant that he cared, in a way.

“You’re a real honey smoked ham, Porker.” Ham’s ears stand in attention.

“Ooh~ never been called that before. Is this some secret 30’s flirting technique I don’t know about?”

Noir grins, resting a hand behind the pig’s ear, instinctively scratching it. Ham sighs, leaning into the touch, eyes closing in bliss.

“Dunno. Do you want it to be?”

_What?_

Since when has he openly flirt with someone? And a pig, of all people? What was this swine doing to him? He’s absolutely sure Ham notices his now-racing heartbeat. He’s scared, he’s taken a sudden leap of faith, and yet he can’t tear his eyes away, can’t remove his hand.

He might be.

Just a little.

In love with a pig?

Ham’s eyes open halfway, cheeks raising in a grin.

“So, purple, huh? What do you think of that?”

Noir blinks.

_Oh. Of course._

He recovers from the emotional whiplash immediately, an invisible mask befalling his face. The hand falls from Ham’s ear, much to the latter’s disapproval.

“Pride. Disappointment.” There’s not much to say.

Ham’s head turns, ears flopping.

“Disappointment in yourself?” He asks.

Noir doesn’t respond.

“Disappointment in me?” He whispers, still smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Noir turns his head away.

“Pride. In Peni,” he mumbles.

A pause. The bundle on his chest shuffles in place.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Ham says, the smile on his face softening into something real. Noir hums in agreement.

They don’t speak for a while after that, too exhausted, simply lying in silence. He’s not facing Ham, but Noir feels a gaze on his turned cheek, studying his blank expression.

This feels unfair, just slightly. It’s a game of cat and mouse between them. Man and pig. Spider and spider. They chase each other yet stop right before pouncing, right before the killing blow. It is a mystery to Noir as to why Ham acts the way he does. He teases. He lures. And finally, just as Noir starts to take the bait, he runs. Is it all a game to him? Is there a cue that Noir is missing? It’s possible, considering Noir lives a life of chosen isolation.

His chest is beginning to numb from the weight atop of it. For once, he considers actually falling asleep. The built up stress of the day has come crashing down. He’s tired both mentally and physically. The warmth of the small figure resting on him spreads throughout his body, which doesn’t help with his case.  

_Screw it._

Noir shifts so he’s on his side, careful to cradle Ham in his arms so as to not crush him. Ham makes a small sound of inquiry, but Noir hushes him, not in the mood to speak any further. The pig snores, cuddling into his chest, already half asleep.

“M’sorry,” Ham mutters.

Noir scratches behind a floppy ear.

_It’s okay._

They drift off together, snores in sync.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya!! hope you survived and liked it LOL  
> next chapter will be all about BEST BOY MILES MORALES and his relationship with Noir and colors  
> (im already pretty far into writing it and HOO BOY its so cute im so excited to share with yall)  
> anyways, thank you so much, again, for reading. and have a nice day!!!


	3. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles spends the day with Ham and Noir.  
> Ganke is there, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha hey everyone...!!! thanks for the patience and support! chp3 is finally here...  
> and i come with warnings:  
> if you haven't read Noir's comics, you might not understand some things he mentions, but i felt it was absolutely necessary to put his history in the fic at least a little bit more (this'll be the last chapter it's brought up tho!) its not extremely alienating to movie-only fans, so dont worry ^u^ just know that he's a sad little man who loves MILFs  
> enjoy!!

 

Graffiti is an art form much more present in cities with an abundance of alleyways and creative minds. Miles is one of those creative minds, and his works are that of masterpieces.

Aaron Davis’ mural attracts the eyes of many passersby, as well as flowers and offers of peace placed at the foot of the painting. Miles, dawning his spider suit, will sometimes perch atop a nearby building and watch the reactions of his people as they honor Aaron’s mural in their own ways.

The first people to see it were his mother and father, both having been there during its creation.

The second person he showed it to personally was Ganke, who held his hand and comforted him as Miles wept. His best friend had brought a single sunflower to place at the foot of the wall, right next to his family’s. He knew those were Miles’ favorite.

The third and fourth people he showed the mural to were Gwen and Peter, who hugged him on either side as he explained to them the techniques he used, learned from Uncle Aaron himself. They congratulated him on creating such a heartfelt piece of art, insisting they both take pictures on their phones to save for later.

The fifth person was an accident; Peni. She had offered Miles a ride on Sp//der, promising a thrill, and had passed by the mural by chance. It was a cloudy day, but a single ray of sunshine had leaked through the parted clouds, right onto Aaron’s smiling face. They continued their joy ride after a shared moment of peace.

Person number six and pig number one were currently walking beside Miles as he lead them to their destination. Noir, who walked with a looming figure, was on his left. People parted the sidewalk at the sight of him. Meanwhile, to Miles’ other side, Ham was attempting to step on his shoelaces.

They were all in civilian clothing, but attracted curious stares nonetheless. Ham and Noir were the hardest to bring out in public, since disguising them was nearly impossible, but Miles didn’t mind. He greeted anyone who looked at them, waving and fist bumping them in good nature. These were his people; he trusted them to treat his outcast friends well.

With the abundance of odd characters that Spider-Man fights weekly, these two didn’t even stand out that much anyways.

Along the way they stopped at a hotdog stand, Miles slightly uncomfortable as Ham insisted he have one with extra mustard. The vendor accepted the pig’s money, speechless. Noir smiled behind his large scarf and pitch-black sunglasses. The tall man had been smiling a lot today; it was a noticeable difference.

“God, I feel like I haven’t seen you in years, man!” Miles says, elbowing Noir’s arm playfully as they walk. An entire month had passed since the last time Noir visited his dimension, not a word from the man besides one-word texts in the group chat.

Miles heard about his panic attack from Peni, and then from Peter. Peter had been the one to comfort Noir afterwards, apparently, and went on a tangent about the importance and power of therapy when recounting that difficult night to the group (Miles suspected he was just upset he could barely afford it anymore).

Noir had been missing from all of their family nights that following month. In his absence, the group felt much less lively, so having him back in town was a miracle. Ham definitely seemed much less depressed and distracted now that the man was present. His mood shift went unnoticed by not a single spider; even Ganke had asked Miles ‘ _Is the pig okay?’_ one night _._

Droopy ears and a fidgety hands had been a constant for the small spider during that time- well, when he wasn’t forcing out strained jokes and quips.

“We missed you a lot; movie night isn’t the same without you! Oh, Ganke got a new game, and we’ve been _addicted_ to it. I think you’d like it.”

Noir hums in response, glancing around the street as usual. Always the attentive one, he was, when strolling down the sidewalks of New York. Miles found his wonder for Brooklyn touching; no one else gazed in amazement at passing cars and civilians like Noir did. His behavior always reminded Miles to appreciate the little things in life.

Little things, such as the pig stepping on his shoe laces.

“Ham, how much longer with the laces, dude?” Miles kicks his right foot up, swiping his laces out from under small hooves. Ham ends up being the one to trip, a loud crashing sound accompanying the fall. Noir chuckles, stopping to bend down and pick up the pig, placing him on his back. Ham mumbles something, glaring in Miles’ direction, and holds onto Noir’s scarf tightly. Miles raises an unamused brow at the pig and blows him a tasteful raspberry. His shoelaces remain untied.

By the time they reach the corner near the police station, Ham is shivering in Noir’s arms, the end of his scarf bundled around the pig’s as well. Miles rocks forward and back, only a _little_ nervous. Noir will probably still like the mural despite his color blindness, but his nerves remain nonetheless.

“So, I wanted to show you two something that means a lot to me. I painted it, after the whole collider thing, and wanted to share it with you personally. You, uh, y’all remember my uncle, right?”

_The Prowler._

They nod. Miles nods back, clasping his hands together.

“Ok, good. Good. Let’s go.”

He leads them around the corner, steps small and quick, and throws out both arms towards the wall.

“Tada!” He says.

Noir removes his sunglasses, eyes blinking rapidly before pulling on his normal glasses. Ham’s mouth forms an ‘O’ and his ears flicker, eyes wide. Miles bounces on his heels as they assess his work. The greyscale man lowers his hat, revealing jet black hair, and rests it on his heart, eyes closed. Ham also lowers his head in a bow. Miles stares in shock; this is not the reaction he was expecting.

“Guys- guys, it’s fine, you don’t have to do that,” he laughs nervously, waving his hands defensively. They finish their silent grieving anyways, then turn to Miles and smile. Ham shoots him a thumbs up.

“This is fantastic, Miles,” he says.

Noir secures his hat back on and tips it towards the boy.

“It’s a beaut.”

Miles grins.

With released nerves, Miles leads the three on their continued walk after saying his own silent prayer to Uncle Aaron. It’s almost 5:00 PM, meaning Ganke will call him soon about their date, but not before asking about any crime fighting news or spider drama. At the thought, Miles smiles softly, huffing as he pulls out his phone. Unexpectedly, there’s a text from Peter. Miles glances at the two that walk behind him before opening the message, hiding the screen with his body.

 

 **[B]eter:** hey kiddo,,; how’re the 2 luvbrdsndiing

 **Miles:** Can you learn how to text with more than one braincell please. Maybe autocorrect.

 **[B]eter:** im swingn n texting. i WILL come over ther and strangle u miles dont test me. answer the  q

 **Miles:** Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine they’re fine. I think. Was gonna invite them on a double date w Ganke. Isnthat weird?

 **[B]eter:** brain cells, Miles,

 **[B]eter:** yeah it’s a little weird

 **[B]eter:** donit anyways. idwk whatll happen tonthem if you leave them alone. that pig is fucking crazy

 **Miles:** She’s right but she shouldn’t say it

 **[B]eter:** send me one mor meme from your dimension i stg  im OLD ok I dont Get It ha ha ha so funny

 **Miles:** You don’t…. have the Simbson’s?

 **[B]eter: …….** THE WHAT

 

Laughing, Miles pockets his phone, turning back to said ‘ _luvbrds_ ,’ whom of which are whispering to one another, grins on (mostly one of) their faces. It’s refreshing to see Ham smiling like himself after weeks of those over exaggerated toony smiles he would flash in the group. When he was with Noir, it’s as if he was… _more_ than a cartoon. He was Peter Porker, photographer and self-proclaimed fashion enthusiast. He was just another person, another friend.

At least, that’s how it seemed to Miles.

It pains him to interrupt their intimate conversation, but he clears his throat, avoiding the crowd as he walks backwards to face them.

“So, Ganke and I have a date soon down at some joint. I was wonderin’ if y’all wanted to come, too? Like, a double date or something.” He twirls his fingers, hoping the ground-breaking imagery of his fingers tapping together will help convince them to tag along.

Noir shifts the swine in his arms to the other side, glancing down at him for an answer. “I’m up for an early dinner,” he says. “If you’re sure we aren’t imposing.”

“He _invited_ us! I’m hungry, let’s go,” Ham whines, crossing his legs and throwing his arms behind his head. Noir nods at Miles, hiding his amused smile under his scarf.

They’re already a couple, but they just don’t know it yet. It’s heart achingly sweet, but so frustrating at times. Miles doesn’t _want_ to admit there’s… _something more than normal tension_ between them, but that’s pretty much what it is. The rest of the spider gang hates it. Miles hates it. Ganke _loves_ it, and loves teasing Miles over his hatred of it. Boy, was he about to get a kick out of this surprise double date.

As they near the restaurant, Ganke calls as expected, and Miles breaks the news to him. His roommate is honestly way more excited about having their date toiled with than he should be, but it’s unsurprising.

 

————————————————————————

 

The restaurant Miles leads them to is called ‘Blue Bird’s’ and is a 50’s themed restaurant. Noir has never experienced the 50’s, but he’s heard that milkshakes and rollerblades were big (are _going_ to be big?) in those times. Much to his hidden disappointment, there are no rollerblades present, but the floors are checkered and there’s a jukebox. Ham darts inside and sprints to it immediately, leaving Noir alone outside with the other two.

Ganke is leaning against a window, thumbs tapping his phone screen at a blurry speed when Miles jogs up to him, pulling his phone down and grinning. The other boy pockets his phone and tackles Miles in a tight, warm hug as soon as he is interrupted. Noir turns away to give them their privacy, pretending not to catch the swift kiss they share.

His skin crawls, imagining the consequences of a kiss like that during his times. The consequences of existing during his times. Inside his coat pockets, his hands curl into fists. His heart beats.

He focuses on his current surroundings, just as his therapist told him to do.

_2019\. Brooklyn. You are safe. You are with friends. They are alive._

He’s okay.

 _They’re right_ **_there_ ** _._

He’s alright.

 _They’re right there_ **_in front of you._ **

He’s fine.

 _They’re_ **_alive_ ** _, you_ **_idiot_ ** _._

Noir turns back to the two boys with aching hands and a nod in the door’s direction.

“We should probably get in there before he can cause too much trouble,” he warns, a distressed hook of his lips barely visible.

Miles and Ganke turn to look inside at the small figure that is still entering quarters into the jukebox, most likely picking the same song on repeat. Miles squawks, scrambling to get inside and pull Ham away from the monster of a playlist he’s created. Noir opens the door for Ganke, nodding politely to the boy as he walks inside more respectfully than Miles had.

“Ham, _please_ , we showed you that video as a _joke._ You weren’t supposed to take inspiration from it!” Miles groans, dragging the pig away from the music machine by the collar of his shirt. Ham is too busy laughing to fight back, holding his gut as tears fly into the air. Ganke laughs behind his hand, not missing the oncoming looks from the other patrons of the restaurant.

Noir signals a waitress for a booth, and she looks at Miles and Ham in exasperation, hesitantly motioning for the group to follow her. They’ll have to tip very generously tonight.

Ganke and Miles slide into the booth across from Ham and Noir, bumping into each other playfully. Noir cautiously removes his sunglasses, eyes shifting around the room, before replacing them with his prescription pair. Adjusting to a safe environment is such a struggle for him. He wishes it weren’t.

Next to Noir, Ham stands in his seat, hands tapping the table to the rhythm of the song he’s chosen. Just like every other song from this dimension, it is unrecognizable to Noir. He feels as though this playlist will become annoying very quickly, but he does not complain; Ham is having fun, and that’s all that matters.

Thankfully, Miles and Ganke succeed in distracting him from the obnoxious melody. The two boys launch into colorful conversation, engaging everyone at the table in their school anecdotes and stories. There is not a dull moment in their banter, leaving no gaps or opportunities for Noir’s mind to wander. Instead, he finds himself smiling the entire time, barely noticing the weight of the pig pressed into his personal space until Ham is standing on his lap, little hooves planted on his thighs.

It’s been a long, _long,_ time since Noir has let his guard down enough for anyone to enter his personal space without him even noticing, but he doesn’t mind it at all- at least, not when it’s Ham. Especially after a whole month of absence.

After becoming so accustomed to the presence of his spider family, going home to an empty house after a long day of bloodshed for a month straight was taxing on Noir’s mental health. Aunt May was out helping the homeless and protesting at most times, and he was far too old to seek out her comfort. Any other _partners_ he had were long gone by now, too.

So he isolated himself.

It was necessary; he had a job to do, Nazi’s to kill, lives to avenge. There was no time to settle down, to unwind. Relaxing is how you lose your loved ones.

Visiting the other Peter’s recommended therapist helped, though he never stayed in the man’s dimension longer than necessary. He would hop in, visit the doctor, and hop out. It would be troublesome if he got too attached to yet another dimension outside his own.

He’s only been twice so far, but the appointments have helped a lot. Noir finds himself just a bit more optimistic, if only by a tiny fraction. The panic attacks still catch him unexpectedly, whether it be mid-swing or in the dead of night on his bed, but he can recognize them for what they are now, and handle the aftermaths appropriately.

It’s hard going through them alone, but he manages.

Thinking of Ham and Peni helps when the matches begin to burn too low.

A chorus that has definitely been sung at least five times by now catch Noir’s attention, and he can’t help rolling his eyes. Why he loves this pig, he does not know.

When he became comfortable with _claiming_ that he loves this pig, he also does not know.

He doesn’t mind this new development.

In the midst of a spell of laughter from the three before Noir, the waitress serving them approaches carefully, her eyes unable to look away from the pig upon his lap. He tips his hat towards her, hoping his expression reads ‘ _Sorry about them’_ well enough. She pulls out her notebook, clicking her pen, and smiles at Noir. The other three hold back their laughter, straightening in their seats as they prepare to order.

“What can I get for you, sir?” She asks. Her hair is white, despite her youth. This intrigues Noir.

He points at an item on the menu under Ham’s hand.

“One of your ‘chocolate milkshakes’ would be delightful, dear.”

Ham snorts, echoing the term under his breath. The waitress blushes, nodding and writing the order down. Ganke and Miles order burgers and fries, and milkshakes of their own. When Ham orders, the waitress is almost too shocked to write down the order, scrambling to gain her wits before scribbling down the pig’s words. As she leaves, Ham snickers and plops down, causing Ganke and Miles to sigh and begin pulling out a cash tip ahead of time.

Noir’s arms wrap around Ham automatically, absentmindedly scratching below one of his ears as he does so. He can feel the wagging of a tail against his stomach, and he sighs. It’s almost pathetic, how in love he is with this cartoon pig. How in love he is with Peter Porker. How easily he accepts this fate.

 

As it turns out, talking to Miles and Ganke is easier than talking to most people. Ham kicks back until the drinks arrive, leaving Noir to pick up the conversation. They eat up everything he says with interest; Miles with his genuine eagerness and Ganke with that always knowing glint of mischief in his eyes.

Miles insists they catch up, so Noir fills him in on as little as he can in terms of New York 1934, and focuses on himself instead- he’s sure the boys don’t want their date ruined with talk of the Nazi regime and merciless brutalities.

He recounts his therapy experience, how it’s helped him so far. Miles understands the topic better, being a Spider-Man himself, but both boys follow the conversation with empathetic eyes. If they notice his reluctance to talk about his dimension’s current situation, they don’t point it out.

“I’ve taken up sketching,” Noir admits, petting the small tuft of fur on Ham’s head. At this point, he’s finally allowed himself to relax into the booth, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. Ham snores softly in his hold in that half awake state he often falls into when extremely relaxed. He must feel so safe in Noir’s arms. That fact in itself is therapeutic.

 _And_ **_dangerous_ ** _._

“You mean you’ve been drawing and you’re holding back on me? Where’s the proof? I wanna see what you’ve got, man!” Miles exclaims, leaning over the table, drinks rattling.

“I didn’t think to bring any of them, sorry. They’re not much, anyways, just some architecture and portraits of a… _friend_ , and her cats.” He’s not sure ‘friend’ is the correct term anymore.

Ganke perks up, a glint in his eyes.

“ _You have other friends?_ ” The boy asks, a mocking awe painting his tone. Miles slaps his arm scornfully, hissing. Noir chuckles, the bouncing of his chest waking Ham from his state. Miles stares, befuddled, as Noir and Ganke share laughter. Ham also slurs out a chuckle, unknowing of the joke but humored nonetheless. Noir pulls up his scarf, hiding his grin and shaking is head.

“Yes, _Ganke_ , I do have other friends. Well, just one remains; Mary Jane is her name. I’m sure you’re all familiar with it.”

Miles’ head turns, like an owl, curious.

“Are you dating her? Since, well, Peter Parker’s and all that.”

Fingers bounce anxiously on Ham’s head, his grip tightening. Ham squeezes the large hand on his stomach.

“No, I never saw her as more than a friend. I had my eyes on someone else, actually. Her name was, uh, Felicia. She was a real doll, that woman. Quite the looker. _Loved_ her cats. ”

“Ugh, _cats.”_ Ham mutters, ears flicking.

Noir chuckles, patting his head affectionately.

“Don’t be such a _sourpuss_ , Porker, it doesn’t look good on you,” he teases, pulling an ear. Ham huffs, snout turned upwards as he crosses his arms.

“And puns don’t look good on you, _Parker._ ”

“ _Everything_ looks good on me, _pig_.”

Across from them, Miles and Ganke share a knowing look. Ham is too busy basking in the head scratches to notice, but Noir does.

What do they think of Ham and him? They invited them to this ‘date’ so they must not mind the idea of them as a couple, right? Not that they _were_ a couple. That would be a terrible idea, considering his track record in relationships.  

 _He deserves a_ ** _better_** _life, Peter. Don’t get_ ** _completely_** _attached._

But it’s too late for that, isn’t it? He’s already accepted the fact that he’s helplessly in love with this pig. The only way out of this would be to abandon his new spider family altogether, and that’s not something Noir is strong enough to do. He’d rather die before leaving them.

Suddenly, Miles jumps out of his seat, gasping. Everyone flinches back, surprised.

“Oh thank _GOD._ They switched to radio!” He cries, sagging back into his seat and throwing up his arms in a weak cheer. Ganke snickers.

“Aw, rats! We were just getting to the good part for the seventh time!” Ham whines, not at all upset with his foiled prank. Noir is more than thankful for whomever interrupted the repetitive playlist, and even _he_ visibly perks up. This is a song he recognizes.

“Yessss,” Miles says, moving his fingers along to the lyrics, seemingly catching every third or fourth word. Ganke watches, unimpressed but entirely endeared by Miles’ little performance. Ham bounces in Noir’s lap, patting his thighs along to the beat, his tail wagging furiously.

Noir sips his milkshake as he spectates the performance, unable to help the crooked grin that breaks out on his face. Miles points at Ganke as he sings the chorus, holding his hands as though directing the lyrics towards him. There are mentions of sunflowers and love, and now that Noir is hearing the lyrics correctly for the first time, he realizes it’s quite the pleasant song.

_I think your love would be too much._

He sets his drink down, snakes both hands down to find Ham’s, and cups them in his own. The pig leans back to look Noir in the eye, his smile careful. Real. Familiar.

How could he ever give that up?

“Can’t believe I’m dating a Post Malone fan…” Ganke groans, resting his forehead on Miles’ shoulder. The other boy laughs, his song interrupted.

“Can’t believe I’m dating someone who unironically likes Seth Rogan.”

“He’s funny…”

“No he isn’t.”

The boys giggle, almost melting into each other, seemingly forgetting their company across the table as they focus on only one other. Noir rubs his thumb in a circle on Ham’s knuckles, smiling at their innocent affection. Puppylove has its charm.

All four lovebirds are interrupted by their poor waitress, who sets down their trays of food and smiles, the stress in her eyes screaming to be heard, and leaves. They all share a look, realizing the ridiculous display they’re giving the restaurant, and laugh.

With food in front of him, Ham is entirely awake now. Sadly, his hands are necessary for eating (in a respected establishment) so Noir pulls back, retrieving his drink from the table, and allows Ham to dig in.

They’re about halfway through their meal when Miles swallows, holding up a finger and wagging it. “Mm- you know, it’s been a while since we’ve had a color lesson! Do you want to know my favorite color, Noir?” The boy sets his burger down, wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin. His eyes glimmer with eagerness.

Noir, not expecting this in the least, simply blinks in response.

Ham thumps his feet impatiently. “Oh, I do! Is it red? Hot pink? Grey? Pumpernickel-“

“Is pumpernickel even a color?” Ganke says over a mouth of heavily seasoned fries.

Miles rolls his eyes, head following the movement dramatically.

“It’s yellow. My favorite color is yellow,” he says, rubbing his temple.

Noir hums, shifting in his seat.

He knows little about the color _yellow_. It’s a color on his Rubik's cube, it’s a primary color, and it is generally lighter in shade than the other colors. That is what he knows. Other than that, he’s unknowledgeable, but he’s curious.

Miles acknowledges his interest, taking a sip of his shake first, hand up. He swallows, slapping the table in a quick repetition.  

“Okay! Yellow is _joy_. It’s the sun’s warming rays. It’s, uh- it’s usually a color associated with happiness, but can also mean loyalty or remembrance. My favorite flowers are- those are yellow! They’re sunflowers, if you- if you didn’t know.”

A batch of those were at the mural, if Noir recalls correctly. They were definitely a type of flower Noir has never quite favored, but he can understand their appeal, especially if associated with such a pleasant sounding color.

“Sunflowers... Like the song-“

“Exactly! Like the song! It’s perfect!” Miles slaps the table again, harder this time, swiping the air to emphasize his point. Noir simply nods, processing this new information.

_Remembrance, loyalty, happiness._

He will admit, the boy’s description fits the color perfectly.

In his month of absence, only three colors have been cycling through Noir’s mind. When drawing back home, it was a personal accomplishment of his to identify objects that were either blue, red, or purple. Now, he had new objects to add to his collection of labeled sketches. Sunflowers would be his first.

They move on from the topic naturally, turning their attention back to eating and discussing current events. Noir stares at the back of Ham’s head as the pig eats. He thinks, tries to imagine what yellow could possibly look like. Is it bright like Peni’s smile? Or sharp like Gwen’s practiced movements? Perhaps it is bold, like Miles’ use of thick line art?

_Gentle, like a lover’s touch?_

They split the check, in the end. Miles pays for Ganke and himself, and Noir has to pay for Ham since he’d spent his remaining modern money on the hot dog earlier. Noir didn’t need the money anyways, so he’s glad to use it on such a positive occasion. They make sure to tip very generously, then leave the restaurant in a hurry.

The sun sets just as they step outside, the illumination of street lights and signs lighting their path instead. Crispy air bites Noir’s nose. He pulls up his scarf, not even asking for Ham’s permission before picking him up and bundling him up in his scarf ends. The pig snuggles into his hold, stomach full and head resting on a firm pec. He’s out like a light before Miles and Ganke can even say their goodbye’s.

“I, uh, love you, Miles. Get home safe,” Noir says, tender, a hand on his shoulder. The boy smirks, patting Noir’s hand before turning to take Ganke’s. He is unsure if Miles understands how deeply he means those words. He nods politely to the other boy, who shoots him a single finger gun. They both turn, smiling back over their shoulders at the man and his pig.

“Love you, too. See you later.”

Noir hears a faint “ _How come I don’t get an ‘I love you’?”_ from Ganke, and then they’re walking off down the sidewalk, hand in hand.

Not a single person turns their cheek at the sight.

Noir’s smile slowly falls, his resting frown taking over as he glances down at the bundle against his chest that snores softly. They _could_ go back to Aunt May’s house, back to the empty bedrooms, and sleep. They _could_ , but the night is young, and Noir knows he will be restless for hours to come. There are so many sights to see. So many unsolved mysteries to discovery. Feelings to discuss.

“Porker,” he whispers, bouncing the pig in his arms. Ham yawns, small eyes cracking open to look up at Noir.

“Hm?”

Noir searches around with his eyes, standing still in the night crowd against the building wall, contemplative. The sun has set, but the sky is still fairly lit, and he knows it must be beautiful right now.

Back home, the sky never looked like this.

“What color is the sky right now?” He asks, voice raspy and low. Ham shifts, adjusting himself until he’s cheek to cheek with Noir, sitting atop his right shoulder.

“I think it’s blue, with a little bit of red mixed in.”

“So purple?”

“Not exactly.”

Noir’s brow twitches.

“I thought…”

“No, no- it’s a special situation. Like, the colors refuse to combine. They’re sitting next to each other, for now, waiting until the sun sets to merge. It’s pretty! I think. I’m not sure. You’re asking the wrong animal.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Noir mumbles. Ham hums, something akin to agreement.

“I’m sure the view is better on top of that building.” Ham points ahead. Sharing a brief glance, it’s decided.

They thwip away, unbothered by the gasps of the passersby.

Atop the building, Ham sits on the edge, hooves kicking the air. Noir recognizes the invitation. He sits to the hog’s left, coat immediately wrapping around his shoulders. When did this become a routine?

Ham is right about the view; it’s better up here. The sun is just a sliver, but it’s still there, and it’s rays warm Noir’s core.

Against his flank, Ham rubs his eyes, yawning.

Noir gazes at the citytop, identifying buildings that resemble ones from his own time. They reflect the imagery of the sky, the sun, and its surrounding clouds.

“So the colors refuse to mix, hm?” He repeats after they’ve settled.

His gaze remains trained towards the horizon.

“Yup.”

“They’re stubborn sometimes, aren’t they?”

“At all the right times, I’d say.”

Ham’s hands wring together.

Noir smiles down at him, amused.

“But the colors they produce together are spectacular, wouldn’t you say?”

“You could say that.”

“Neither of us can see them, but we can both appreciate them together. It’s poetic.”

“Mhm.”

“Sappy.”

“Yup.”

“Dramatic.”

“I see what you’re doing, there.”

The sun is almost gone now completely, but it’s warmth remains.

Ham rubs his hands, tearing his gaze away from the sunset. Noir waits, patient.

“Yellow is more than just happiness and sunshine, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can’t see the color all too well myself, but I know; it’s _cowardice_ , too.” Ham’s ears droop, small arms wrapping his torso in a self-hug. “I’ve been a big coward, haven’t I?”

Noir looks back at the horizon, which is now absent of the sun. How quickly it goes. He shrugs.

He wouldn’t lie; that is exactly what the pig has been. A huge coward. A tease. Just plain troublesome.

_However..._

“You’re not the only one,” he admits.

Ham turns abruptly, droopy eyes widening in question.

Noir sighs, long and loud. He won’t make this about himself. This is Ham’s moment.

_Let this happen._

He swings his legs over the building, pushing himself back so he can sit cross legged in front of Ham. He grabs the pigs hands, holds them tight so they can’t fidget, and leans forward. His gaze is fierce.

“We’ve both been candy-assed, Porker. There’s no denying that.” He says this lightheartedly. Ham doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m the only coward here,” he mumbles, stubborn. Noir squeezes the paws in his grip, firm.

“I’m the biggest coward I know, Porker, but _you don’t_ have to be one. At least, not around me.”

Ham sniffles.

“You don’t mind it? The whole-“ he gestures to himself.

“The whole…?”

“Me being a cartoon?”

_Of all the things…_

Noir chuckles, raising the pig’s knuckles to his lips. His breath ghosts over them. Ham shivers.

“Peter,” Noir whispers, lips pressing against skin, “We went on a _double_ _date_ tonight with two other men. We’ve _slept_ together. I’ve _admitted_ to _flirting_ with you. What more do you need before you stop pussyfooting about this?”

Ham sniffles, eyes glassy. The wind, how it always finds him, blows by. The current carries heavy tears down the pig’s cheeks, finally breaking his shell. Noir accepts the pouncing hug with open arms, allowing himself to be thrown onto his back as Ham sobs atop him, his arms an iron cage around the man’s neck. On the way down his hat tumbles away along with his glasses, but he is helpless to the desperate cries that stain his ears.

Ham trembles even as Noir engulfs him in his own half of the hug, strong arms holding him secure, as if the pig could be swept away by the wind were he not held close enough. He holds tight, fearing the pig could run again, now that he’s been caught.

“I’m sorry.” Ham whimpers, his words being barely audible were they any further from Noir’s ear. He rubs a warm circle into Ham’s back, letting him ride out this breakdown. It’s not the worst way to crumble- especially with someone there to hold you together. They’re alone, atop this rooftop, a place they find themselves too often, but it’s not horrible. The sky’s colors have finally mixed into a pleasant shade Noir can only assume is a deep blue. A blue that has been tamed and understood. It is familiar now.

Sniffling and ashamed, Ham pulls away, wiping his eyes pathetically. The other spider remains lying down, legs and arms falling into a comfortable position. He tucks his scarf under his head like a pillow, supportive smile aimed at his companion, whom of which takes a brief moment to gain his composure before snuggling into his side. The pig slides the discarded round glasses back onto Noir’s nose, fingers lingering on shaved cheeks before dropping to his chest.

Noir kisses the top of Ham’s head, humming.

“I forgive you, Porker,” he whispers. Ham hiccups, which he thinks is an attempted laugh, then sighs.

“I shouldn’t have played with you the way I did. That was -it was unfair. It’s not an excuse, but I was scared.”

“Mm.”

“Being the funny guy is shitty sometimes- oh, but you wouldn’t know.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“Thank you, thank you; I’m here all night.”

Porker nuzzles his neck with his snout. His breaths are warm and replace the heat of his now-missing scarf.

“Everyone expects me to be happy and cheerful all the time- well, not you, which is kind of why I got attached to you in the first place. You’re so broody and dry-cut, it’s new to me. And kinda sexy. Remember when you decked Miles in the face after knowing him for two minutes? No one laughed; it was so funny.”

“Thank you, _really_. No need to flatter me, darling.”

“It’s no problem. Just don’t let it get to your head.”

Noir flicks his ear.

“Spit it out, pig. You were saying something about being taken seriously?”

“Mhm… Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve never been in a real committed relationship. Had a fling with an MJ or two, you know how it is, Spider-Man stuff.”

“No, I don’t. Am I the only one who’s never dated a Mary Jane?”

“Maybe. Well, have you ever had a quick fling, then?”

“Um…. Felicia, briefly-“

“I knew it _. I knew it!”_

Noir sighs. _“_ It’s not what you think. She was… _older_. Didn’t let us get further than sex.” He falls quiet. “Never let me give her the love and protection she deserved.”

Ham is quiet. His hands find one of Noir’s, small fuzzy fingers entwining with scarred, grey ones.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You said she had _cats_?” His tone shifts into a playful sour one, teeth bared in a grin.

“So that _was_ jealousy back there, with the cat thing, wasn’t it?” Noir teases, thankful that Ham can detect his anxiety and change the subject. Do pigs have a sixth sense for this stuff, or does Ham just know him that well?

He barks, then slaps Noir’s chest in offense when snickered at.

“Bag your face! We were on a _date_ , I had every right to be bitter. One of my mortal enemies happens to be a cat, you know.”

“ _Sure_ . But we were talking about _you._ Don’t think you can get out of this by complaining about felines.”

There’s an undignified snort.

“... _Fine_. As I was saying, I’ve never been able to be _real._ Not like this. I’ve felt grief and utter sadness but I’ve never met anyone who’s _actually_ _felt it_ ; not in _my_ dimension. Not until I met you. It was a wake up call.”

“And then…?”

“And then I fucked around and fell in love! I fell in love and I made stupid cowardly choices.” He shakes his head. “Crazy, the things pigs do when they’re in love.”

_In love._

_Hm._

“And what do pigs do when they’re in love?” Noir whispers, turning on his side, eyes level with Ham’s.

He snorts, “I wouldn’t know! I’m a spider through and through, baby. But I _can_ tell you that when a _spider_ falls in love; he has _to-die-for_ sex with a bangin’ female spider, and gets eaten post-coitus.”

Noir isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh or not. Ham oinks, his own giggles muffled by Noir’s chest. It’s so charming, that laugh. He smiles.

“Good thing I’m not a bangin’ female spider,” Noir attempts.

He waits for the punchline.

_It’s coming._

Silence.

_It’s definitely…_

Silence.

_….coming._

Stifled laughter.

Noir raises a brow. Ham mirrors his expression.

“What? Why are you- OH... Were you expecting something like ‘ _No, you’re a sexy_ male _spider_ ’? Nice try, you bimbette. I’m being serious right now, remember?”

Now Noir laughs, the sound echoing across the rooftops, into the skies. Ham grins, pleasant joyous laughter joining the rugged sound of a poor man’s cackling. Their laughter, while beautiful separate, really sounds the best when mixed together.

_What a truly dramatic sap you are._

_An entertainer._

They sigh simultaneously, unbothered by the cold hardness of their concrete bed, faces pressed close.

“Are we a couple now?” Ham asks, wiping away a stray tear. Noir follows the movement, caressing the other spider’s cheek with his thumb. He preens at the touch, eyes heavy-lidded. Noir kisses his snout, ginger yet playful.

“A couple of dumbasses, sure.”

Ham grins.

“A perfect match, then.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy thanks for getting this far!  
> i really didnt like how this chapter came out, so it took me a while to finish it, but i hope you liked it.  
> I’m not really a writer, more of an artist, so this fic is not perfect obviously. But I’m having fun so shrugs.   
> our boys are finally together <:D  
> next chapter will probably be PURE FLUFF and maybe a little more exploring of the conclusion to Noir's story.  
> if you havent realized by now, this is absolutely not canon-compliant with the movie LMAO but we're having fun so who cares  
> thank you all again, chapter 4 is on its way!


	4. Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spider family has a picnic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good luck.

 

**Peni:** we should have a picnic in the park day ><!!

**[B]eter:** sounds good

**Miles:** Sure! Can I bring Ganke?

**❤️ Gwen ❤️:** please do I miss him :/

**❤️ Gwen ❤️:** don’t tell him I said that tho

**Miles:** <:) Sorry

**❤️ Gwen ❤️:** >:((((

**[B]eter:** adorable. u can bring him as long as he promises not to roast me the entire time again. im too old  

**Miles:** And brittle

❤️ **Gwen ❤️:** and weak

**Miles:** And don’t forget OLD

**[B]eter:**  ha ha ha…………….. he’s uninvited

**Peni:** No he isn’t !!!!! Bring him Miles!!!!

**Miles:** B)

❤️ **Gwen** ❤️ **:** B)

**Hog Mulaney:** I’ll bring pie :0)

**Peni:** ok!! that’s everyone except Noir (;-;)

**Hog Mulaney:** He’s coming. Don’t worry ;0)

**Peni:** (0u0)!!!!!

**Hog Mulaney:** :0D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**[B]eter:** :/

**Miles:** Yo tell him to bring some of his art I wanna see it

**Peni:** me too!!!!!

**Hog Mulaney:** Can do >:0)

 

Miles locks his phone, flopping back into his pillows. Below, Ganke types at a breakneck speed on his laptop, working on an essay that’s due tomorrow morning. Energy drink cans both empty and full surround his bed, some are even scattered across the bunk around him. Spring break was just around the corner and teachers were piling loads of homework and papers on the poor students. Miles himself had been chipping away at his pre-calc homework before texting the group chat, but now he taps his eraser on the notebook, mind distracted.

“You stuck?” Ganke asks, the clacking of keys not even stuttering. Miles flips his pencil around, then brings it up to his lips to naw on it.

“Nah, nah. Hey, do you wanna go on a picnic with the gang this weekend? Take a break from all this work?”

The typing stops. A few gulps of liquified energy.

“S’that why you were texting Gwen and not doing your homework?”

“Ehh partly. So is that a yes?”

“Of course.”

“Cool, cool.”

He lowers his pencil, mind buzzing, and stares at the numbers in his notes. Miles doesn’t notice, but the typing from below has yet to continue. The faint sound of a car honking can be heard.

“Something on your mind?” Ganke cuts through the silence. Miles startles, his pencil jumping and falling off the bunk. He peers over the edge where Ganke is leaning down to grab it, closing his laptop in the process. When he turns to hold the pencil up to Miles, the bags under his eyes crinkle with his smile. They’re both exhausted.

“Want to watch some TV for a bit?” He asks, handing the pencil to Miles and turning to pull up Fletnix on the desktop. Miles bounces the pencil in the palm of his hand before placing it next to his workbook. He climbs off the bunk, hanging upside down above Ganke’s bed. His roommate turns, hands on his hips, and grins.

“That will never fail to impress me and you _know it._ Very cheeky move, Morales.” He kisses Miles’ cheek before falling back into a bundle of blankets, wireless mouse in hand. Miles chuckles, then detaches, falling directly onto Ganke, knocking the wind out of him.

“You asshole!” Ganke wheezes, yet makes no move to escape. Miles laughs, maneuvering himself so he’s laying perpendicular to Ganke, his back against the wall, calves resting on Ganke’s thighs.

“Love you, too!” He winks. With a single grumpy huff, Ganke starts the show.

They fall asleep after one episode.

 

————————————————————————

  


Waking up next to a warm body in the cold of winter was one of the best feelings in the world, right next to the sweet taste of chocolate and the feeling of wind ruffling your clothes. When Noir wakes up next to a warm presence against his chest, it takes him a moment to realize it isn’t a woman, but rather, a pig.

He’s still adjusting to this.

Porker snores with his face buried in Noir’s hairy chest, drool trailing down his left pec. It’s gross, but cute. Porker himself is wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with red hearts, and there’s a small tuft of fur on his chest that tickles Noir’s ribs. The man urges his eyes open, blinking away the dreariness, and mindlessly pets Ham’s head. Even in his sleep, he preens at the touch and sighs, snorting softly.

It’s still early in the morning, but Noir will have to leave for work soon, and he assumes Ham will have to do the same. However, the space outside his heavy comforter is cold, and Porker is just so warm. His presence is so peaceful he could easily fall back asleep.

Before he can scold himself for the thought, he’s dozed off, curling himself in tighter around Ham.

 

His spider sense wakes him before the knock on the door can. Thunderbolts of energy run down his spine, his limbs aflame.

**_Wake up, boy._ **

He bolts, throwing every blanket and pillow he can onto Ham before rushing to the door to block it. May opens it just a crack, Noir’s foot preventing any further movement. She blinks, surprised, and looks up at her nephew.

“You look well rested,” she comments, her wrinkly smile as beautiful as ever.

Peter nods.

“Overslept.”

She quirks an eyebrow, the inter dimensional ‘Aunt May Sass’ kicking in.

“Well it’s about time you got some sleep, young man! Although, I’m afraid you’re late for work. You’d better hurry on down. There’s breakfast on the table.” She releases the door knob and steps back. “I’m headed off to the shelter. Don’t get into any trouble, Peter.”

He continues to nod.

“I love you,” he says before closing the door and locking it, pressing his back against the wood and sighing. He feels like a teenager again, getting scolded for hiding hooch and matches under his bed, only this time he’s hiding a half naked, gay cartoon animal under his sheets.

What a sentence.

Two ears pop out of the bundle of blankets atop his bed, their colors no doubt contrasting the world around them. Noir runs a hand over his face, recognizing his need to shave, and paddles back to the bed before flopping down on it. Ham yelps as he’s bounced from the impact, landing on Noir’s lower back, stars twirling around his head in a dizzy haze. He shakes the stars away, blinking.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Porker laughs, reaching down to massage Noir’s muscles. The man groans, sore, and pulls up a pillow to rest under his chin.

“Mornin’, doll,” he mumbles into the pillow. Ham continues his impromptu massage, small fingers really working a number into his back.

“Your skin is so beautiful,” Ham whispers, trailing his fingers up Noir’s spine.

“You intend on that sounding as creepy as it did?” He chuckles, head turned to the side. Porker leans forward, his grin cheeky.

“Yes.”

They both allow themselves to wake up as Ham massages Noir, the motions lazy but slowly picking up clarity. By the time Ham is done, Noir feels great, but wants nothing more than to pull the pig back into bed and sleep for five years more.

He rolls over, bringing Porker down with him, hands holding either side of his torso. The pig watches, amused and curious, as Noir presses his face into his soft belly. Small hands run through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He begins leading a trail of kisses up the pig’s body until his lips reach his neck, where he hesitates before planting a feather of a kiss, much more gentle than its predecessors.

Ham exhales, letting out the breath he’d been holding, his ribs visibly lowering. His eyes are lidded, intrigued in the direction they’re taking, but he pushes Noir away all the same.

“Don’t you have work?”

Noir frowns, thumb tracing the elastic of his boyfriend’s boxers. He doesn’t particularly want to work right now, not when he had everything he could ever want right here beneath his lips.

Porker smiles, sympathetic, and sits up to kiss his cheek. He says, “Go get dressed,” and slips out of the bed. Noir follows the command, mind trained on that fluttering feeling as he dresses himself in a turtleneck, coat, and pants. Lastly, he snatches his glasses from the bedside and pushes them onto his nose.

When he enters the small washroom, Ham is already standing on the sink in front of the mirror brushing his teeth. Noir scratches behind his ear as he grabs his own toothbrush (a gift from the future) and begins his morning routine.

They work around each other, as they always have, but now with a more intimate approach. Rather than flow around one another like they once did, they purposely invade the other’s space, looking for any reason to be close. Porker will kiss the knuckles on Noir’s free hand as he combs his hair. Noir will twirl a small curly tail between his fingers as Porker buttons up his shirt. Sometimes they just stop and feel each other, as though still adjusting to the fact that this was real.

And yet? They still haven’t kissed.

They’re taking it slow, which is new to Noir, but definitely welcome. Ham seems to be more than content with their pace as well. It’s perfect, what they have, and Noir finds he’s actually _happy._ Those dark thoughts telling him he doesn’t deserve another lover rarely ever appear when he’s with the pig, because he knows he is more than capable of defending himself. He doesn’t need Noir’s protection. No one in this dimension is even aware the pig exists.

No one but him.

Although, he should probably introduce him to Aunt May if he planned to have Porker over so often. Almost every night Ham would warp on over to his dimension, straight into his bed, and they would sleep. Noir hasn’t slept so well in his entire life up until this development.

Ever since their coupling, Noir has been making an effort to text more. Small messages, like telling Porker to have a nice day or to stay safe. The pig responds with obnoxious ‘emojis’ and messages every time without fail, thus causing Noir to smile with an equal amount of success. There’s change, it’s small, but there.

In the kitchen, Ham eats most of the breakfast that May set out, shoveling food down his mouth faster than any human could. Noir nibbles at his toast, delaying the inevitable. Once done with his meal, Ham will leave, and Noir will go to work. Most days aren’t as dreadful now that his bed isn’t always empty, but he still has to get through them.

Porker licks his lips, oinking and tail wagging.

“De-licious! Your May definitely cooks up a meaner dish than mine!” Ham carries his dishes over to the sink and drops them in, dusting his hands off. Noir follows suite, running the water to clean off both of their dishes.

“Well, she’s no nuclear scientist, but she’s a fine woman. I’d be honored to meet yours one day,” he replies. “Haven’t been to your dimension yet.”

From atop his seat on the counter, Ham snorts.

“Maybe soon. I want your first time there to be special! Say, Peni wanted to have a picnic this weekend, maybe after that we can spend the night at my house.”

At the mention of the young girl, Noir bites his inner cheek. He hasn’t talked to her directly since _that_ night, afraid of the damage he’s done, so their interactions have been minimal.

Porker notices his silence.

He waddles over and hugs him, humming. Noir kisses his forehead, folding the hand towel and tossing it aside, then takes Porker’s hands in his. Determined, Noir squeezes the paws in his grip.

“I’ll come.”

“Great! I’m baking a pie, so you’d better bring something good. Get Aunt May to cook up a dish! Oh, or maybe, bring something vegetarian for Peni?” Ham pecks his cheek again, right on a faded scar, and hops down from the counter.

“Alright, I’ve got to head back now! I’ll see you later tonight, right? Same time as always? Text me, love you baby!” And with that he presses the required buttons on his bracelet, summoning a portal to his dimension, and hops in, blowing a kiss as he falls backwards. The kiss floats in the air in the shape of a heart even after the cartoon is gone, and Noir reaches out to touch it. Contact, then a _pop!_

Peter walks to work with a crooked smile hidden under his scarf.

 

Tragically, though expectedly, his smile does not last long. Love can only help so much when confronted with the harsh reality of the times.

That day at work, Peter investigates the murder of three children, suspected to have been killed by their own parents in a night of drug abuse and madness. The parents bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, suspected to have done the harm to themselves.

There is a new drug circulating in the city, one that causes its user to disregard all pain and sanity, and in all cases so far, ends in death. Peter stands above the body of a young boy and two little girls, his hands shaking and throat lodged.

Slowly and almost torturously, the sun treads across the dreary sky.

Blood.

Dismembered bodies.

Empty eyes.

The day does not get better after that.

 

Day turns into night, and one job turns into another.

Dawning the mask and goggles, Noir walks amongst the shadows in dark alleyways, eyes and ears open for any sight of danger. He carries a new gun now- not that he’s planning to ever use it; it’s there for an ultimate last resort. However, it’s weight is prominent tonight after thoughts of Peni stuck with him throughout such a brutal day.

Children murdered, hurt by someone they trusted to cherish them.

Noir, scaring the one girl he wanted to protect the most.

_Maybe the picnic is a bad idea._

**_Watch out, boy._ **

_Huh?_

Too distracted by the commotion in his head, Noir does not notice the man hiding around the corner until a rusted blade is deep in his side, a battle cry causing the lurking pigeons to take flight.

Shocked, Noir grunts, then throws out a fist, catching his attacker in the jaw. The man’s mouth audibly cracks, hangs loose, yet he staggers none, continuing his attack, twisting the knife deeper into Noir’s side. A spurt of blood stains the man’s hand. His eyes are unfocused, wild, and he snarls like a dog.

Is he even aware of his actions at the moment?

Noir resists the temptation to cry out in pain, instead opting to use his mutant strength and break the man’s arm at the elbow, nice and clean, and kick him to the ground, trapping him in dark webs. Said man falls to his side, eyes wide and frantic. He does not react to the break, just continues to struggle against his constraints, mouth foaming.

Noir stumbles back a few feet but does not get far until his mind buzzes furiously, and the next thing he knows he’s surrounded by men in suits with a dirty knife lodged in his side.

Great.

One man steps forward, hands clad in white gloves, his hair slicked back and shiny. He wears a daunting symbol proudly upon his chest.

“Well, what do you think, Spider-Man? Are you impressed?” His accent is thick. Disgusting.

Noir clutches the knife, taking a deep breath before yanking it out. He stifles a cry of pain and throws the knife to the ground, left hand pressing down onto his open wound. It would either get in the way, or bleed. He doesn’t mind a bit of blood.

“Am I impressed? By what, _this_ bozo? Let me guess, you eggs drugged this man for your own self gain, as some sort of experiment?” The evil rich type, they were all the same; predictable. Still, that didn’t change the fact that they were dangerous. If this was the same drug from earlier, Noir could count himself lucky for escaping with a single flesh wound.

White gloves claps, head tilting as he smirks.

“Very smart, Mr. Spider. But that sad sack of trash isn’t the only thing we drugged,” he purrs, nodding towards the discarded knife. “We came prepared.”

It takes a second for the words to connect, but as soon as they do, Noir’s throat constricts and he screams in pain, his cries turning into choked gargles. He staggers to a knee, the wound under his hand erupting into an unimaginable pain. His vision blurs, doubles clouding his vision.

White gloves tuts as he looms over Noir, his fellow soldiers closing in to form a tight circle. Several pull out their heaters, preparing to fill him with a poisoning much more merciful than his current predicament.

“You’ve been a real pain in the ass, Spider-Man. My men can’t provide for their families if you’re beating them to a pulp! Not to mention, you’re quite the thorn in our sides, always meddling in our plans. And I just can’t have that, now can I?” Those white gloves disappear into a jacket pocket, and then they’re back, pointing two pistols down at Noir.

Two, or four? Maybe just one? Noir can’t tell. He can barely see, or open his eyes at that. His body is heavy. The world is spinning. Consciousness is leaving his body. This is it.

He supposes it was about time someone got the drop on him.

Just as he was finding happiness.

 

**_Your job on this Earth is not yet done, little man._ **

_Huh?_

**_Get up._ **

 

Ah, that’s right, he can’t die yet; he wants to attend picnic day after all.

The spider deity within him flares, its power surging through his body with vigor. Grey eyes fly wide open behind a pair of goggles. These are the eyes of a man who has a family to get back to.

Noir swears he sees red.

With newfound strength, the spider leaps into the air, black webs finding their targets like starving snakes.

Blinded by rage and desperation, and a little bit of experimental drug poisoning, Noir breaks several bones in every body he comes into contact with. His veins roar with the fires of rage and utter primal instinct as he punches, kicks, and crushes.

He is desperate. He is angry. He wants to personally administer their suffering.

The gun remains in its holster.

By the time their leader falls to the ground unconscious, every individual finger under those no-longer-white gloves broken, Noir is close to fainting, himself. The blood of his enemies stains his clothes, mixes into his own.

_I’m dying._

**_You must live._ **

_How come you only talk to me when I’m dying?_

**_Enough sass. Escape— NOW._ **

As instructed, Noir manages to swing himself back to the neighborhood, but collapses just blocks away from his house. Colliding with the brick wall of someone’s home head first was not ideal, and yet, here he was.

Noir slides down the wall, onto the ground, gasping and clutching his side. It’s so painful it’s almost numb. He can barely breathe, even with his mask off.

Everything is dark. Everything is locked in place.

Unable to move or see, his mind races. Is he panicking? Or is he just dying? Both? Was this drug deadly, even to a man with accelerated regenerative powers?

Is Ham waiting for him back home?

He blacks out.

 

—————————————————————————

 

Porker paces in front of Noir’s bed, his small hooves clicking against wooden flooring. He’s not worrying, not yet, but he is known for being quite impatient, and he’s been waiting in his boyfriend’s room alone for almost an hour now with no sign of the man. Ham understands that being Spider-Man was a job that favored no one’s schedule, but he would appreciate at least a text. Maybe a quick ‘Sorry I’m late!’ or ‘Cancelling for tonight’ would have sufficed.

Not silence.

There’s not much to do in this bedroom besides shuffling through Noir’s lackluster collection of bloodied knives (gross) or sniffing his dirty laundry (also gross, and kind of perverted), and Ham can’t risk leaving without being seen. Aunt May had already been home when he hopped through the portal, so he’s been holed up the entire time.

At first he’d been bored, so he scrolled through his phone and chatted up some friends, even attempted to call Noir a few times. _No response_.

Then he noticed the commotion of May pacing in the kitchen, muttering to herself about her nephew and a nearby police report. He called Noir several more times, texting as fast as his little hands could muster. _No response_.

Finally, he started fidgeting, joining the pacing bandwagon, two pinkish hands clenched together in a tight grip, wrists raw from worried rubbing.

“Shit…” he hisses, stopping in his tracks.

It wouldn’t hurt to do some snooping, would it? Ham was no professional in stealth, but he was a Spider-Man, so he could evade the eyes of this dimension no problem. All he has to do is sniff out Noir, make sure he’s fine, then head back and wait.

But it’s never that easy in these stories, is it?

 

When Ham finally tracks down the source of the rancid smell of blood that wouldn’t leave his nose, he almost faints from the intensity of it.

Leaning against a blood splattered brick wall is his boyfriend, shallow breaths from a mouth covered in a dark grey substance Ham can only assume is also blood. With shaky steps, he approaches Noir, hands unsteady.

There is a tear in his suit from what appears to be a stab wound. Is that it? Just a stab wound? No— there is definitely something else wrong; Noir is stronger than that. Ham gingerly taps his shoulder, eyes alert for a response.

“Babe? You’re gonna be- you’re gonna be fine, alright? I-I’m gonna call Peter, and- and we’ll get you to a hospital,” he stutters. He’s scared. Terrified.

Nothing like this ever happens in his dimension.

Noir stirs at the sound of his voice, a wet cough interrupting his pained breathing, although, he remains unconscious. Ham holds his gloved hand as he pulls up Peter’s contact information, cringing at the feeling of stickiness on his palm.

Each ring feels like another punch to the gut.

“Hello-“

“ _Peter_ , Peter we need- we need to go to a hospital. Noir is hurt and- and-“

“Send me your coordinates, I’m coming,” the man says, voice steeled. Ham catches the worried questioning of MJ before he hangs up, fumbling for his bracelet to send a dimensional location point to Peter.

As he waits, he assesses the damage more personally, peeling back Noir’s upper layers to inspect his wound. Were he not monochromatic, Ham suspects the swelling around it would be a nasty color, even worse than the sight in front of him. It doesn’t seem to be healing itself, which is a huge red flag. Ham searches his body for other injuries, yet finds nothing more than some bruises and shallow cuts.

What happened? Was he dealt a head injury? Something internal? Poisoned?

Ham gnaws on his free hand, curling up into Noir’s uninjured side. He shivers in fear; this is not something he was ever prepared for, as blood was rarely shed in his dimension. For some reason, the thought of Noir actually sustaining serious injuries never crossed his mind, never seemed like a real possibility. But this was no cartoon, this was real life, and Ham was experiencing it truly for the first time.

When Peter comes running out of a portal with Gwen by his side, Ham is too shocked to help them carry Noir. He trails behind them into a different dimension, ears pulled back and hands quivering.

 

At the hospital, Ham sits alone in the waiting room on a plastic chair, feeling more like an animal than he ever has, shaking like a chihuahua. Humans stare at him. His spider sense screams at him. The luminescent lights blind him. His spider suit is stained grey.

With all senses heightened, he can hear Noir’s ragged breaths from rooms away, the frantic beeping of a monitor, the demands of doctors. Pulling on his ears doesn’t help silence the sound of his human suffering, but he persists.

Peter and Gwen return from the front desk in only minutes, but it feels like years to Ham. Peter kneels in front of him, waving a hand. It doesn’t register.

“Ham? You’re in shock, buddy. I’m going to pick you up and move you, is that okay? Nod if it’s okay.”

He can hear everything.

“ _Peter_ , nod if it’s okay.”

He nods.

Familiar yet slightly-off hands lift him from the seat and hold him close. It’s so familiar but it’s not right. It’s not his Peter.

It helps, a little bit.

With his face buried in Peter’s chest, he doesn’t notice when they’ve exited the hospital and resided in a local coffee shop. He shakes in the man’s arms, forehead pressing into him with eyes clenched. It’s a long while before the white noise fizzles out.

The smell of coffee is nice, and the sound isn’t so bad in here. There’s a low chatter, sipping of drinks, and the hint of music above. Gwen and Peter talk in low voices, both working at their own cups of coffee. Peter’s chest is not as firm as Noir’s; it is less bold. His arms lack the same strength, the same urge to protect that Noir has. He smells of grease, sweat, and a hint of a woman’s perfume. It’s different, but not worse. He is soft, friendly. He is another part of the family.

With that realization, Ham relaxes just a fraction, unfurling his paws from their death grip on his ears and resting them on Peter’s spider suit that is concealed quite poorly under his jacket. Peter shifts Ham into a more comfortable position, pausing his drinking to scratch behind his ears.

“Do you want anything? Water? Coffee?” He asks, quiet.

Ham shakes his head.

“Okay. If you need anything, just ask. Is this your first time with one of these?”

Silence is enough of an answer.

Gwen scoots closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair is frizzy and undone, deep bags under her eyes. She has not yet slept today.

“The doctors said he was poisoned, but they have all the right tools to treat him. They’ve had the medicine for decades now; the poison doesn’t stand a chance. He’s going to be fine,” she whispers. Ham hiccups, his quivering ongoing. That’s good news if true, but does little to relieve his shock.

Peter and Gwen sit close, backs to the public, sheltering Ham from curious eyes. They keep him mildly distracted with talk of movies, cartoons, and comics. At one point, Gwen pulls up an article that speaks of the latest trends in fashion and describes them to him, Peter commenting every so often in support. It’s over before he knows it.

 

———————————————————————

 

Slowly, over the course of one whole hour, Ham calms down, then yawns and falls asleep. Peter’s chest is wet and crusty with tears and snot, but it’s nothing that can’t be washed off. He pets the pig’s hair, eyes heavy. Gwen is nodding off next to him, head resting on his shoulder, only half of her coffee consumed. He shrugs gently.

“Hey, rockstar, time to go,” he whispers. Gwen blinks and yawns, stretching her arms out before rubbing her eyes. She glances down at the sleeping pig in Peter’s arms. He offers his best comforting smile.  

“I’ll house him tonight. I’m sure MJ won’t mind. She’s always wanted a dog, anyways.”

Gwen chuckles, yawning again, and helps Peter to his feet. They discard their coffee and exit, faces scrunching up at the cold wind. Gwen rubs her arm nervously, then hugs Peter and Ham before quickly pulling away, her cheeks red.

“Get him home safe. Text me if you get any updates.” Peter chuckles at her reserved nature.

“I will. You go get some sleep. Thanks for helping out tonight.”

Gwen punches his arm lightly, the gap in her teeth peaking out. “Anything for a friend,” she says, then hops into a portal.

With Gwen gone, Peter is left alone to transport the sleeping pig in his arms home. He hopes MJ won’t mind cuddling with a pig, because he’s not sure he can bear the guilt of letting Ham sleep alone tonight.

 

——————————————————————-

 

**_No matter what you do, boy, your loved ones will always get hurt, whether it be by your hand or others._ **

_What? Why?_

**_Because that is the will of the world, I’m afraid._ **

_I’m not so sure I want to accept that._

**_You don’t have a choice, boy._ **

_I don’t?_

**_No. You never have._ **

_…_

**_Nothing to say?_ **

_…_

**_Fine. If you must continue to fight, I will be here._ **

 

Waking up alone in the cold of winter in an unfamiliar bed was one of the worst feelings in the world, right next to being stabbed, poisoned, and slamming head first into a brick wall.

It’s also not at all peaceful, emerging from a concussion.

Noir jolts awake, eyes wide and muscles seizing up, gasping. Futuristic technology surrounds him, beeping and whirring. There are tubes inside him, needles in his skin. This is a hospital, he recognizes, and he is a patient.

His mask is off. In fact, his entire wardrobe has been stripped away. Who took him here? Surely this wasn’t his dimension, so was it perhaps Peter? _His_ Peter?

_Shit._

Ham had been waiting for him, and he’d gone and blacked out. Was Ham the one who found him? Is he okay? Does Porker know he’s alive? Awake?

There’s a frantic beeping somewhere.

Noir weakly tugs at the IV’s in his arms, barely able to form a fist, but stops abruptly when a nurse rushes in.

“Woah, hey! Keep those in!” She exclaims, running over to him, a glass of water in one hand and a tray of food in the other. Noir grunts, falling back onto his pillow, eyes shutting.

The nurse organizes her things beside him, shuffling about here and there. Noir itches to move, to escape, to get answers, but he stays. There doesn’t seem to be any danger in lying here, not for now. And, he will admit, he is feeling a bit under the weather. Just a tad.

“Wow,” the nurse whispers, “You really look just like him.”

He turns his head, one eye peering open. She has dark, freckled skin, long frizzy hair, and wide eyes. At his attention, she flinches back, stumbling in her chair.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I thought you fell back asleep!”

Noir closes his eyes again, sighing. He’s so tired.

“Who?” He asks, then realizes how parched he is. The nurse wheels back over next to his cot and holds out the glass of water. There’s a straw, and she steadies it by his lips. Noir accepts the help and drinks.

“Peter Parker— Spider-Man. He came in last night with you, a girl, and their pet pig. He was dressed in the cutest little outfit, too— um, the pig, that is.”

Noir hums, intent on sipping down the entire glass. That made sense; Peter was the most capable of dealing with injuries, and Gwen was the most well-equipped out of the remaining choices. Ham had done well to call them.

A shame that it had come to that in the first place, but alas.

“Can I see them?” His voice cracks. The nurse places the empty glass down and holds out a spoonful of something indistinguishable to him.

“Not until you’ve eaten and rested.”

He turns away from the spoon, eyes crinkled.

“I can feed myself, ma’am.”

“No you can’t. Eat,” She insists. He actually can’t feed himself, because he can hardly lift his head let alone raise his arms, but it doesn’t sit right with him to be spoon fed by such a nice young lady.

Having no other choice, he rolls his eyes, defeated, and opens his mouth. She feeds him for the next ten minutes. It hurts to swallow- his throat is raw for some reason, so the process takes longer than it normally should. By the time the plate is almost empty, Noir is borderline panting, sweat rolling down his temple, the pain across his entire body searing. His lovely nurse, who’s name tag he can’t read, administers his pain killers as soon as they finish their feeding session. When the liquid medicine flows into him, Noir feels his muscles uncoil. It’s heaven in physical form.

He passes out into a deep sleep.

 

The next few times he wakes up, he’s walked through the same routine; eat, drink, sleep, repeat. The nurse he’s grown to like is spunky, sarcastic, and takes no shit, but she’s nice. Noir appreciates the amount of tolerance she has for an old fool like him.

Doctors also visit occasionally to gather results and change his dosages. They don’t talk to Noir much, and he doesn’t talk to them. He’s never quite liked _doctors_.

“We’ve contacted your friends; they can see you during visiting hours in just short of a week if your health continues to improve! Oh, and your emotional support pig, too. I wasn’t even aware those existed until recently!” The nurse reports, sitting by his bedside. Noir can at least feed himself now, but she keeps him company. Back home, hospitals are boring when you’re not dying, but here they let you watch television and movies. Noir learns much about _Friends_ and _Disney Princesses_. Tiana is his favorite; she reminds him of a bright young man he used to know.

As for communication, there _is_ a no phones policy, but Noir has little attachment to the device in the first place. As long as the hospital is keeping his friends up to date, he doesn’t worry about notifying them of his health. He wouldn’t know what to say, anyways.

The nurse dusts off her gloved hands, just having finished cleaning his stab wound.

“Thank you, dear. Say, um, is there a chance I can put on some real clothes?” He asks. He’s not particularly privy to the idea of his spider family seeing him in such a state.

“Well, sir, we need you to stay in your gown until your wound has healed, plus your other clothes are all bloody and cut up-“

“Cut up?” A thousand ton weight drops in his gut.

She acknowledges his panic, fingers linking together, posture apologetic.

“We had to cut them to get to the wound. They’re mostly fine, and all the pieces are in a bag together, but I don’t think you’ll be wearing them again anytime soon.”

Noir pushes his tray away, desperately attempting to calm the frantic beating of his heart. An alarm sounds.

“I’d like to be alone, if that’s fine,” he says through gritted teeth. He does not want to have an episode in front of a stranger.

She shakes her head, standing.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker, I can’t leave if I see signs of distress. What do you normally do to derail a panic attack?”

He laughs, eyes squeezing shut. His chest flutters violently.

“You could tell?”

“Yes. I am a professional, after all. Do you need physical contact? Silence? Music? Lights off?”

He shakes his head, grip on his sheets white-knuckled.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Just know you’re safe here. Breathe with me, alright?”

They breathe together.

Immediately after the adrenaline has run its course, Noir passes out from exhaustion.

 

It’s like that for the following days, falling in and out of fevered sleep, panicking and breathing.

It’s a rare occurrence normally, but lately the spirit within him visits more often. Noir entertains the thought that maybe this spider god actually cares about him, just a little bit, and wants to keep him company in his moment of weakness. It’s completely bullshit, and he knows it, but any source of conversation is welcome right now.

 

**_How much longer do you plan on wasting time here?_ **

_I’m tired._

**_As am I, of your negligence. I did not bestow my powers unto you just to have them ignored, boy._ **

_Sorry._

**_Apology not accepted._ **

_Love you, too._

**_Such immaturity._ **

 

He floats within his own headspace, naked and bare both in body and soul, dark webs and long inhuman limbs surrounding him. The spider looms above, too close for comfort yet also miles away, it’s eight eyes glinting. This is a space between states of consciousness, between states of living. Only God resides here. Just a man and his Spider God.

 

_Hey, I have a question for you._

**_Go on._ **

_How come it’s taking so long for me to recover?_

**_I believe it is because you lack the resolve to, my boy._ **

_Ah, that sounds about right.._

**_Do not sound so discouraged. I expect greater things from you._ **

_What if…. I don’t_ want _to do greater things?_

**_Then you are a fool, and a coward._ **

_And you’re the bee’s knees, baby._

 

“You have a visitor,” the nurse says one day at noon. That day, Noir was cleared to have _one_ visitor, his health said to be stable enough to handle it. Behind her is a tall figure not unlike himself. Peter follows the nurse into the room, a plastic bag in each hand. She excuses herself, waving goodbye before leaving.

Peter drops into the chair next to the bed, the dark circles under his eyes almost as bad as his 5 o’clock shadow. Noir sits, hands crossed, thankful for some real company.

“How goes it, old boy? Here to beat your gums?”

“Horrible! How the _hell_ do you deal with that pig?!” Peter groans, head lolled back. Noir’s lips split in a lopsided grin, the first in days. Peter falls forward, elbows on his knees, hands running through unkempt hair. Noir watches, amused.

“How is he?” He asks.

Peter sits up, stretching out his legs. He’s dressed nicely for once, which is a surprise in itself, but he somehow manages to still look like a mess.

“Extremely worried. There are pig tracks on the _ceiling_. He eats, paces, and sleeps. I never want a dog now.”

Noir smirks at the man’s exasperation.

“Well, he’s not a dog.”

Peter raises an unamused brow.

“You’re right, he’s _not_ a dog. He’s a huge disaster like the rest of us.”

“And somehow I found myself stuck on him.”

“Alright, enough with the lovesickness, I don’t want to hear about your weird dating life, I got enough of that from the pig.” Peter lifts a bag, tossing it onto Noir’s lap. “Here, I got some stuff from your dimension, thought it would help. Left a note for your May, too, said you were staying with a friend on business or something.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.

Inside the bag is one of Noir’s sketchbooks, some pencils, a Rubik’s cube, and his glasses.

“Thank you,” he says as he pushes his glasses on and pulls out the cube.

“No problem. Also got you a change of clothes and some toiletries. Figured you’d need them. Hope you don’t mind sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Ham picked out the socks, s’why they’re hideous.”

Noir accepts the other plastic bag, almost excited to finally change into some real clothes. Peter allows him some privacy to clean himself up and change. He’s in desperate need of a shower, but the minimal supplies he has to work with do wonders. Once clean, he settles back into the cot, already beginning to feel sore.

The doctors said he would be feeling the after affects of the poison for days to come, and that he was lucky to even be alive. Noir summed his luck up to his regeneration, although it wasn’t doing much more for him now.

“You feeling any better?” Peter asks. Noir toys aimlessly with his cube, eyes closed and head resting against fluffy pillows.

“I might, one day.”

Peter scratches his chin, thoughtful. There’s not much to say between them, not really.

“They say when they’re gonna release you? I, uh, put you under my health insurance since you’re technically _me,_ so...” he trails off. Noir cracks an eye open.

“Another week or so. Might need physical therapy, just to get back on my feet again.” He examines his cube. “Nazi’s make damn fine poisons, I’ll say.”

“Yikes,” Peter hisses.

He’s not Noir’s preferred company, but it’s probably best that Peter was the one to visit today. Noir isn’t at full strength, and struggles to do much other than mumble and fidget with his possession. They watch television in comfortable silence until the nurse comes back- her name is Noelle, he finally reads- and delivers Noir his meal and medicine. Peter promises to go home and let Ham know firsthand that Noir is fine, then leaves.

“Have a good day, today?” Noelle asks, half watching the television, half checking up on the machines around him. She grins up at Noir as he eats, the excitement of meeting the real Spider-Man apparent in her eyes.

“Mhm. Say, Miss Noelle, can I ask you a question?”

She shoots him a quizzical look at the use of her name, but agrees.

“What color are your eyes?”

She blinks.

“Brown.”

“And your hair?”

“Also brown.”

“And your skin?”

“Brown again.”

“You’re the snake’s hips, Noelle. Thank you.”

She smiles, unsure and confused, but grateful.

He sketches her later that night, labeling her features accordingly.

 

——————————————————————

 

_You no longer ‘do’ friends? Yeah, right._

Gwen could laugh at her past statement, sitting here biting her nails, spitting aside flakes of black nail polish. She sure did fail at that, huh.

In fact, two of her _boy_ friends currently occupy her space, one on each side, each doing their own thing on the floor. They hadn’t been there for Noir’s accident, but as soon as the man was safely in his hospital cot, Gwen had texted them _everything._ She and Peter comforted Ham for a while, texting the group chat as they did. And then, at the end of the night, she’d crashed into their dorm room, right into their arms, and slept.

It wasn’t easy, seeing yet another Peter bleeding out on the ground, holding his corpse, his blood on her hands, carrying his heavy, lifeless corpse to the hospital, horrified at the possibility of witnessing her third Peter Parker death so soon. It was the opposite of easy, as a matter of fact.

Still, it’s been days and Noir hasn’t seen any visitors besides Peter, and Gwen is beginning to grow impatient. She _needed_ to replace the image of his dying face in her mind. She _needed_ to see that he was alive.

“Mm, I don’t get this,” Ganke mumbles, face shoved in a history textbook. Miles rolls over and pushes Ganke’s long hair back, reading the revealed text. He clicks his tongue.

“Oh, yeah, that part sucks. Good luck.”

“Hhmmmmggg.”

Gwen huffs, and rubs Ganke’s arm for comfort. Miles cackles, rolling back to his sketchbook to resume his scribbling. Gwen continues to chews on her nails absently, the momentary distraction not enough to keep her mind off of Noir. Any time now, Peter should text them, give them the go ahead to hop on over to his dimension and see their friend.

_Any time now._

Two phones buzz, and all three kids rush to see the update. Gwen holds her phone close, tight.

 

**Gross Uncle:** hey kiddos noir is fine just cant have many visitors at once cuz he gets tired easily. deadly nazi poison or smthng its rough. he’l be ok tho. might have to rescheduldle the pcinx

**Peni:** we can still do the picnic!!!!!!!

**❤️Miles❤️:** Can we really, though? I don’t want to have one without him. Wouldn’t be fair.

**Peni:** I mean we could have it in the room!  Bring the picnic to him (^u^) I think he would like the company.

**Gwen:** That's sweet. I’m down.

**Gwen:** B)

**❤️Miles❤️:** B)

**Peni:** B)

**Gross Uncle:** B)

 

“Do you think we’ll even be allowed to do this?” Miles says, tucking his phone away. Ganke shrugs.

“I’m sure they’ll allow anything for Spider-Man,” Gwen comments.

Ganke sniggers. “I hope he doesn’t mind takeout.”

 

————————-————————————————

 

Ham spends five days in the Parker-Watson household. Mary Jane is more than happy to have a (very cute) guest that cleans up after himself and flatters her constantly, enough to forgive the tracks on her ceilings and walls. Ham makes sure to clean those up every night.

Peter doesn’t really _have_ a job. He’s Spider-Man most of the day, barely home and too busy fighting crime, always tired. He insists he’s a reliable source of income, vouching for an online website Ham can’t comprehend, apparently relying on the good of the people to donate or support him through a subscription service. It’s much too modern for the pig, though.

When the hospital called to update them on Noir’s condition, stating that only one person could visit, Peter gave his sincerest apologies to Ham before insisting he be the one to go. He understood; he was a pig and a bit of a mess right now, both equally concerning factors that held him back from visiting alone.

However, it’s been _days_ and it’s finally the weekend, and he was _finally_ going to see his boyfriend. They were going to have a picnic and be a family. He could at last forget about the stench of blood and it’s dark stickiness staining his suit. He was going to love the living daylights out of his man.

“What flavor is that?” MJ asks, entering the kitchen. Her hair is frizzy and pulled back into a low bun, dawning her light blue bathrobe- it brings out her eyes. She has off from work today, yet still looks effervescent, just as every MJ does (she doesn’t have horns or a tail, but she’s still a sight to see).

Ham hops down from the counter and wipes his hands off on his apron, flicking his powdered ears. The kitchen is a mess, covered in flour, sugar, egg shells, and various other splashes of ingredients that have no right sticking to the ceiling, but MJ doesn’t worry, she knows Ham has a magic way of making the mess completely disappear.

“It’s a classic apple pie! So good you’ll grow wings!” He boasts.

She chuckles, sifting through the cabinets to grab a mug, placing it in the coffee maker.

“I don’t doubt that. Did you turn this on for me?” She asks.

“Yup,” he responds, peering into the oven at his pie. MJ thanks him, pouring herself a glass of hot joe and bending down to plant a kiss on his head, then walks back to the living room. Ham giggles, snout pressed against warm glass, a single hoof kicked up in glee.

Peter is still in bed, quite the heavy sleeper, but he’s been working hard lately so they allow it.

Sleeping with the softer, chubbier version of his boyfriend felt a little weird, but MJ was the one who ended up cuddling with him, so he didn’t feel _too_ guilty. At least he wasn’t sleeping alone this past week. Noir would understand.

As the pie bakes, Ham duties himself with cleaning the kitchen. It ends up cleaner than it had been before he touched it, actually sparkling in some places. He shoots finger guns at his reflection in the tile.

Peter wakes around noon, trudging into the kitchen clad in sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. Ham hands him a mug of coffee, extra cream and sugar, and hops onto his back as he makes his way to join MJ on the sofa.

Ganke and the spider kids planned to meet here at 1:00 PM so they could all go to the hospital together, giving them about an hour of downtime. As Peter drinks his ‘morning’ coffee and MJ blogs on her laptop, they watch the news. Ham curls up between the couple under a large blanket, his snout just barely peeking out from the bundle. He’s never thought of himself as anything other than a well-adjusted individual, but he doesn’t mind getting the puppy treatment for a few days; sometimes even pigs deserved to be spoiled.

Eventually, Peter leaves to get ready for the day, thanking Ham for the coffee with a scratch behind his ear.

MJ follows Ham to the kitchen when the oven beeps, insisting she at least help him pack the pie into a nice basket, throwing in her own batch of grapes and strawberries.

“I know we haven’t met personally, but tell him I said to get better soon, okay?” She says. To her, Noir isn't just another a friend; he’s another Peter. Ham promises to deliver the message.

Shortly after assisting Ham with his basket, MJ leaves for yoga, kissing Peter on the cheek as he escorts her out the door. That leaves about five minutes for Ham and Peter to sit and wait before the kids arrive. The pig holds his basket close, sniffing up the delicious scent of freshly baked pie and cold fruits. Peter sits across from him at the kitchen table, tapping his phone.

“Does he know we’re coming?” Ham asks, hooves kicking the air.

“Huh?” Peter asks, distracted. Ham snorts, demanding.

“Listen to a pig, will ya? Does he know we’re coming?”

Peter locks his phone and scratches his neck, lips pulled back in an apologetic grin.

“No, he doesn’t. It’ll be a fun surprise! Now come on, the kids are here,” he says before jumping over the table, scooping up the pig on the way.

“I can walk myself, you know.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

 

————————————————————————

 

It’s Saturday, and Noir has just finished his exercises when Noelle scuttles into his room, a bounce in her step. Today she wears a bright toothy grin, dimples pronounced on either cheek.

Noir lowers himself back onto his bed, the urge to mirror her smile irresistible even with the subtle exhaustion of aching across his entire body. The physical therapist, a nice young man, excuses himself for the time being with a thumbs up to Noir and a polite nod to Noelle.

She hops into the chair next to him, rolling into the side of the cot, hands clapping. “Good news! You have visitors today! _And_ they brought the pig!”

It’s impossible not to feel a bit eager, as well as dreadful.

“Are you here to warn me?” He asks.

She giggles, twirling the chair around to pull out several needles and tubes that Noir knows will be inserted back into his body.

“Nope! Just here to hook you back up. They’re waiting outside, but medicine comes first!” She exclaims. He lifts his left arm for her as she cleans the insertion area before sliding the tubes in, pulling down his sleeves once she’s done.

“Thank you,” he says. She salutes him, standing and pushing the seat to the side with her foot, then shuffles to the door.

“I’ll let them in now. Call for me if you feel any dizziness, stress, hunger-“

“I’m fine, really. Thank you, Noelle.”

“Okay~!”

She slips out the door, holding it open for his guests before running off. Miles, Ganke, Gwen, Peni, Peter, and Ham file into the room, all unsure of the atmosphere (except for Ganke, of course, who grins devilishly, definitely excited to poke fun at him). Noir waves them over with his IV-free arm, his head resting back against soft pillows, glasses slightly askew from the thin layer of sweat he built up doing his exercises. He’s glad he looks slightly presentable today, although he’s definitely way too exposed for his comfort, especially in front of such a strong group of individuals. Their pity is the last thing he needs right now.

Despite hiding in the back, Ham is the first spider that Noir focuses on, everything else lost in his tunnel vision. The pig waddles in, ears pulled back, hiding behind Peter’s leg. Their eyes meet, one pair worried and the other welcoming, and that’s all it takes for Ham to break into tears. Porker wails, _loud_ , and flies into Noir’s arms, pushing aside anyone in his way. The impact knocks the air out of Noir’s lungs, and he’s slightly concerned that a stitch has come loose, but he accepts the pig in a warm embrace. The others take their seats in chairs around his bed, watching the show with amused, caring expressions.

Ham speaks gibberish into his shoulder, tears flying into the air and running down his cheeks like tiny rivers. Noir laughs, bashful, and combs his fingers through the hair on Ham’s head. He shushes him, wary of the wet patch forming on his sweatshirt.

“Hey there, little fella, sorry you had to deal with that.” He looks over at Gwen and Peter, apologetic as he can muster. “Sorry, to all of you. Thank you.”

Peter crosses his arms, flippant. “It was nothing. Just don’t get hurt again, okay?”

Gwen rests her hand on his cot, next to his knee, relieved. Miles and Ganke sit together at the foot of his bed, baskets resting on their laps. Noir eyes them curiously.

“What are…?”

It’s Peni who takes a deep breath and stands from her seat on Noir’s right side, hands on her hips and chin held high, declaring, “We wanted to have picnic day, so we brought the picnic to you! It wouldn’t be fair to exclude someone.” Her hands fall, crossed behind her back. “We missed you.”

Noir blinks, flinching at the wetness on his cheek. He lifts a finger to feel his face, discovering a tear. He was… crying?

“I… miss you, too,” he says to the room, eyes glued to the tear on his fingertips. Hopefully they wouldn’t judge him for such an exposing show of emotions.

“Do you like Chinese food?” Ganke cuts in.

“I’ve never been to China,” Noir replies absentmindedly, still focused on the tear. Everyone laughs, leaving him to sit in helpless confusion at the joke he apparently missed.

“Alright, enough, no bullying the old man,” Peter chuckles.

“No one was bullying you.”

With that, the picnic begins and the group falls into pleasant chatter, passing around plates and utensils, piling most of the food on the cot and Noir himself.

Peni sits close by his right side, and with the assistance of Ham, aids Noir in his meal. Porker shoves food into Noir’s mouth at an alarming rate, insistent that he sit back, relax, and let it happen. The man is too weak to oppose.

He learns quite a few new things from this impromptu picnic; Peni doesn’t quite understand what egg creams are (he appreciates her attempt, though), Chinese food tastes amazing, and Ham makes the meanest apple pie Noir has ever eaten.

Only a couple hours in, Noir begins to drift off, his stomach bloated and limbs numb. Porker is already asleep on his chest, back legs kicking as he dreams, and the kids are invested in a movie that’s playing on the television. Peter watches him from the corner of his eye, mindful of his condition. They share a look of acknowledgement.

As desperately as he wishes to cherish this moment, Noir cannot deny the fact that his body craves rest and his consciousness is slipping. There’s a prickling at his temples, claws dragging down in a feathered touch. He closes his eyes, exhales, and drifts.

 

_I can hear your silence. What are you at?_

**_Nothing of your concern._ **

_Bushwa. Spit it out._

**_…_ **

_………_

**_You have acquired quite the family, boy._ **

_Huh?_

**_Think not of it. Rest, now, Peter._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha hey yall sorry it took so long to post this. its almost 10 thousand words! woah! also i hated it the entire time i was writing it, so thats somethin.  
> first of all, let me say thank you to everyone who has commented. i reread the comments so often it might be a problem at this point. i swear once the fic is finished ill try and go reply to as many as i can!!!!  
> also? sorry for promising fluff and then slapping you with angst. sometimes when i write my mind goes off in a tangent and i just HAVE to follow it.  
> we're nearing the end of the fic, give or take a few more chapters, so be prepared UnU  
> the ending i have planned is nowhere NEAR canon compliant, but i want to end it in my own way, so i will. maybe. its still up for debate.  
> again, tysm to everyone who supports me! i hope you enjoyed this :]


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